


Birds of a Feather (Flock Together)

by Castello



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: #DaddyPenguin, #UncleZsasz, (But not from main characters), (I mean towards Martin you kinky bastards), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Arkham Asylum, Bits of Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Bottom Oswald Cobblepot, Canon-Typical Violence, Crimes & Criminals, Dadwald, Desk Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Drama & Romance, Escape, Family Fluff, Fanart, Fluff, Hand Jobs, I'm aiming to mess with your feelings, Jealousy, Letters, Love Triangles, M/M, Mild Gore, Mildly Dubious Consent, Misunderstandings, Oswald deserves happiness, Possessive Behavior, Prison, Probably Unhealthy Relationships, Rescue Missions, Riddles, Seduction, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, uncomfortable situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-05-21 04:54:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 60,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14908733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castello/pseuds/Castello
Summary: Set around S4E11 into S4E18 (Or around that, at least, this very loosely follows cannon)Oswald becomes Jerome's...whateverwhile sat in Arkham, waiting to plan his escape so he can safely get at Sofia Falcone and rescue his boy, Martin. He comes to terms with the arrangement quicker than expected. It's not awful, and Jerome's influence in the asylum helps make his stay more tolerable than it was the first time. It's not a huge price to pay.He's working hard to move past Edward and their back and forth betrayals and he's pretty proud of himself for it.But his eyes catch the shine of those idiotic glasses that frame his nose so well, and Oswald almost falls right out of Jerome's lap when he realizes that Edward has been arrested too. He'sthere. Imprisoned with Oswald... again. Because the last time they'd been locked up together had gone so well.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

It's harder to fight off the crazy when it whispers dirty promises in your ear as you try to sleep. Through their shared vent, Jerome lists off limitless promises of friendship, alliance, power, _laughter_. He flirts and dances around Oswald's head with something close to malice, but not quite, all in a twisted display of just how far Jerome can reach. He could pull Oswald down from his heights with that much influence. Jerome can make Oswald's time there an absolute hell if he wanted to, or, _as he continues to promise_ , he can make it _better_. He can crush and squeeze him until all of Oswald's fight drains out of him, or he could lift Oswald up above the clouds and make him a king. Oswald is only a little ashamed to admit that that kind of power _excites_ him. 

When Jerome's lackeys try to haul him out in the night and he demands a laugh, Oswald throws his all into a convincing mime performance. He's relieved when Jerome doesn't just stab him. He gets a few good licks in himself before he's escorted back to his cell, Jerome's wild laughter echoing loudly behind him. Oswald hopes his bloodied face _stings_.

He writes about it in his letter to Edward, wondering if Ed would be proud of him for having the upper hand on someone as crazy as Jerome, even if it was only for a moment. He's written to Ed almost every day since he's been here. It's part of what keeps him sane really. Even if he never gets a reply, it's a good way to get everything out of his system. He asks for forgiveness half the time; other times reminisces over fond memories. Sometimes he just writes about the things he's had to endure there. He never asks Ed to come see him though. That would cross the fragile line that Oswald has drawn between them. Oswald wonders idly if Ed even reads his letters. There's a high likelihood they just go straight into the bin... but maybe he does. Oswald likes to hope.

 

* * *

 

 When Oswald is _encouraged_ (the term used lightly) to join Jerome and his lackeys, he starts by simply hanging around on the sidelines when they gather, content to just make a show of being there and nothing more. As long as Jerome can see that he's there, clearly stating that he's part of whatever plans Jerome's got up his sleeve, he shouldn't have to do much more. He hopes.

But after a couple days of that Jerome grows bored. He calls him over and kicks some random brunette up off the floor beside him before sweeping out an arm to offer the seat to Oswald. His smile is teetering on the crazy side of friendly, and it's obvious to Oswald that he doesn't really have a choice. It's not a friendly offer, its a command. Why he needs to be _here_ rather than pleasantly invisible by the wall, he's unsure. Jerome probably wants to play around with him some more. Oswald is surprised when he doesn't ask for anything more than that for another few days.

There's a day where they all watch one of the inmates, crazy with strength, who _likes to eat people_ , chomp around and threaten everyone. Oswald is startled when he makes a move for Jerome, snapping tremendously terrible jaws just in front of his face. Jerome doesn't even flinch, just laughs and laughs like a death threat is something hilarious. Oswald, on the other hand, does flinch. Incredibly hard. The man makes a move for him and Oswald scoots back, raising an arm in case those _insane_  canines come for his face. Jerome is still cracking up. When the guy turns around to go for someone poking his back with a stick, Jerome sticks his leg out in front of Oswald with a grin. 

"If you're scared you can always hold onto _me_ ~" he sing-songs. 

Oswald looks at him with hatred, insulted. Jerome is mocking him. He sticks up his chin and slips an arm and a leg around Jerome's out of spite, staring up at him defiantly and enjoying the moment that Jerome's laughter dies down. He digs his nails into Jerome's leg _hard_ and it's _so_ satisfying to see a bit of irritation spark in reaction. Oswald expected him to get angry and push him off. Instead, Jerome starts to giggle. He doesn't kick Oswald away either... He slips a hand into Oswald's hair and issues a painful grip that forces him to keep his eyes on the crazy man that's just bitten someone's ear off. Oswald tries not to gag when he spits it out onto the floor.

After that, Jerome starts leaving a leg out in front of Oswald when he sits. He doesn't say anything about it, doesn't order him to take hold of it, but it's very pointedly placed right within reach.

 

* * *

 

 Oswald learns pretty quick that Jerome likes to make sick shows out of the other people in the asylum. Sometimes it's by force, like the night they'd dragged Oswald out of his room, and sometimes he offers them some kind of incentive or reward if they can make him laugh. 

There's a woman pulled before them this time who claims she can do ventriloquism. Oswald can't tell if she's here by force or not. She's shaking with nerves, but anyone would be. Jerome is _terrifying_. The guy giggles like a kid receiving an early birthday present and instructs her to carry on with her act. She points once at oswald, saying nothing until he grows irritated and opens his mouth to ask her what her problem is. 

" _Honk honk_." A voice, not his own-- _but very close_ \-- says before he can get any words out. 

Jerome's eyes widen and he stares at Oswald, then the woman. He tosses his head back once with a hoot, clapping his hands as he turns to watch what she'll do next. 

Oswald presses his lips thin. He stares her down with a fiery hatred as she smiles nervously, glancing between him and the chuckling Jerome. He mentally adds her to the list of people he needs to kill once he's out of Arkham. 

He refuses to open his mouth again, and even when Jerome gives his thigh a light kick he stays stoic. Oswald is not one to let himself be humiliated. He doesn't handle it well. The woman doesn't choose a new victim though, just smiles nervously at Penguin, seemingly ready to wait. Oswald isn't about to give into-

"Awwww, _come on_ Ozzie," Jerome begs, mouth turning down into a split second a pout before flipping right back up. 

Oswald isn't expecting to be pulled up by his hair. Jerome encourages him to move with a snicker, smiling as he leads Oswald onto his knee, shifting his hand from Oswald's hair to the back of his shirt to hold him in place. "You can be my dummy!" he cheers, "I've always _wanted_ to try my hand at ventriloquism!"

"I am _not_ -"

"Honk!" goes that irritating mockery of his voice. 

Oswald turns his head to glare at her. She merely grins, as if his bickering with Jerome was what she'd been waiting for. He's so angry that he opens his mouth again to yell at her, interrupted by another loud slew of honks and it's so _frustrating_. He starts to rise from his seat, ready to strangle her right then and there, but Jerome's hand is tightly fisted in his uniform and he can't move. 

"Ohhh you funny birdy-boo," Jerome coos, "you are just _great_ for a laugh!"

He cackles, wrapping an arm around Oswald's neck and laughing right into his ear, the sound loud and deafening. Oswald returns the favor with an obviously fake smile, almost leering as he sits there, humiliated and unable to exact any sort of revenge. The entire situation is made worse by the fact that he's sitting on Jerome's lap like a lost child. His cheeks are red and he _knows_ that Jerome catches it. The man breaks out into more laughter and shifts Oswald around a little bit, giggling the whole time.

When he comes back the next day to take his seat on the floor, the seat is taken. He's confused, but doesn't ask questions. Oswald is about to head back for the wallspace he used to occupy, thinking Jerome got bored of him, when he's caught by the hem of his shirt. Jerome's amused laughter feels like more mockery as he pulls Oswald back onto his lap. He sputters, cheeks growing red with embarrassed frustration, and Jerome just continues to laugh. 

He doesn't understand what kind of entertainment Jerome is getting out of it until he pinches Oswald's cheek. "Such a _pretty_ color ya got there, bird brain." 

And Oswald realises then that Jerome gets off on embarrassing him. It shouldn't be all that surprising, but this kind of teasing catches him off guard. "You're sick," he mutters, spiteful. 

Jerome just grins. Ed's gonna think he's a real pushover after today's letter.

 

* * *

 

Things start to slowly get a little easier on Oswald after that. 

At lunch, he's pulled away from the line by one of Jerome's people and plopped down onto a bench before he can grab his food. He's confused at first, thinking he's done something wrong and is getting ready to resign himself to an empty stomach when someone slides a tray in front of him. Oswald is surprised when it's _not_  the boxed mac n' cheese that the cafeteria menu had advertised. It's a _monte cristo sandwich_. Where he would normally see a pile of messy, canned, undrained and badly cooked veggies, he finds a tasteful cup of French onion soup. There's even a glass of milk to wash it all down. It's not a carton. It's a _glass_. Oswald is so stunned he almost forgets that he actually gets to eat this immaculate spread. 

Before he can ask any questions Jerome drops down onto the bench beside him with a tray of his own, filled with another variety of _good food_. Oswald is stunned silent. He'd known Jerome had the guards here under his thumb... but his influence went _this_ far? The glasses were even a _hazard_. One smash and you had a weapon.

"Thought you might like something other than the _slop_ they serve here," Jerome chuckles, plopping a grape from his own plate into his mouth. "Always puts _me_ in a better mood."

"Th-thank you." Oswald is still kind of shocked. His last time at Arkham he'd almost given up eating all together, the food so bland and mushy it came back up more times than he cared to admit. He'd have rather spent the time lying around in the infirmary getting nutrients pumped into him through an IV than go through it all again.

He decides then and there to act a little more grateful towards Jerome. If playing nice means he can eat like _this_ every day, he's more than willing to put on a smile and crack a joke or two. 

 

* * *

 

Oswald totters into the rec area with a bit more pep in his step the next day. He doesn't care to fight it when Jerome drags him down into his lap again, fitting Oswald between his spread legs and crossing his arms over Oswald's head before resting his chin on top. It's a little demeaning, but not exactly uncomfortable. 

There's a couple dancing for Jerome today. A sort of ballet. It's very different from the usual acts people put on for them; no blood, crude jokes, or death. The girl swirls gracefully around her partner and he in turn lifts her high into the air by her hips. When she kicks her legs out and nearly hits someone, he wonders if the act is going to involve them hitting some onlookers, but she never gets close enough to do it again. Oswald notices that Jerome doesn't seem too entertained by the whole thing.

They swing around a couple more times before the woman pulls him closer by the arm and places a gentle kiss on his cheek. 

"D'awww," Jerome grunts, "isn't that just _sweet_." 

There's something bitter behind his words that makes Oswald tense. They're tight and curt and Oswald briefly wonders if Jerome will have the couple killed just for boring him. He's only a little surprised when Jerome turns to look at him with a grin. "How 'bout it Ozzie?" He taps a finger to his cheek a couple times with a chuckle. "Why don't ya plant one on me?" 

Oswald's not sure if it's because of the good food in his belly, the sensual dance or if he just doesn't want to be on Jerome's bad side anymore, but he does just that. It takes a little maneuvering, but nothing too difficult. He shifts his body so that one leg is hoisted up and over Jerome's. His chest is at a right angle with Jerome's when he cranes his neck to finally peck a kiss on his cheek. His scars feel odd under Oswald's lips, but they're not awful. It's kind of intriguing actually... a different sensation. Oswald never liked people that were _perfect_ anyhow. 

When he pulls back he realizes that Jerome isn't laughing. He's wide eyed and looking at Oswald like he's grown a second head. He recovers quickly though, tossing his head back with a delighted cackle and Oswald realizes with sudden embarrassment that Jerome had only been teasing. He never actually expected him to _do it_. Now that he has, he's inspired some kind of intrigue in the clown and Oswald isn't sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Probably leaning towards the latter. 

Jerome slips his arms around Oswald's waist rather than over his head. 

There's another gentle twirl from the dancing pair, then suddenly the girl screams a wild cry of war, pulls something out from behind her back and stabs her partner in the chest. She plunges her crude shiv into him again and again until her face is covered in blood splatter. She turns back to Jerome with a wild smile and bows. He breaks out in laughter. Oswald is sad to see something with real taste go to such waste, but the vibrations from Jerome's laughter behind him actually feels sort of nice.

At dinner there's a small cake waiting for Oswald with his tray and he decides that in today's letter to Ed, he won't add the part where he traded a kiss on the cheek for some dessert. 

 

* * *

 

For the better half of the time, the inmates leave Oswald alone, the fear of Jerome is a powerful deterrent. The ones that don't just don't know any better, usually they're the brain dead ones. Sometimes he's accosted by the patients with personal space issues and it's easy enough to push them off, land a punch or two sometimes when they're especially persistent. 

It's a couple months into his time at Arkham before he meets someone he can't handle on his own. 

His name is Barrow, an older gentlemen who gets food in his beard when he eats and likes to sniff everyone's hair. Some of the doctors whisper about him making dolls out of the hair he takes from other patients, sometimes he takes it while they sleep, sometimes when they're awake. He's got one of the worst personal space problems there. Barrow had been known to lick people a lot, one time he stuck his tongue up the nose of an inmate who spent his time staring at walls without moving. Poor sap was an easy target. 

Oswald is headed back to his room at the end of the day then he's stopped by Barrow. He sniffs at Oswald and trails him until his attempts to dodge Barrow lead to him pressed against the hallway wall. Barrow giggles, crusty beard tickling Oswald's face and when he licks a line from Oswald's chin to his temple Oswald has to fight the urge to throw up his lovely roasted chicken dinner. 

"Get off me." he huffs, pushing at Barrow's chest but realizing he's a little stronger than he looks...

He absolutely _insists_ on smelling him, pushing right back until he can get his face right up in Oswald's. "Can I have some?" he asks, voice a little creaky as he lifts a hand to tug on one of Oswald's bangs.

"Absolutely not." Oswald snaps, using one hand to block Barrow's face and the other to try and push at his chest.

"Oooohhhh~" Barrow starts to sing, "Pretty birdy~" 

It's in a startling, off key whisper, and Oswald wants to bite the man's nose clean off. He's got his lips curled in a snarl, ready to attack, when Barrow is suddenly stripped away from him. Jerome tosses him onto the floor with his whole body, and Oswald feels a little better knowing Barrow was a heavy guy and he wasn't just too weak to toss him off. Jerome kicks him in the gut, over and over until he's laughing maniacally. 

When he pulls away, his laughter has tapered down to a giggle and Barrow is left groaning on the floor, arms wrapped around his stomach in agony. 

"Oh _boy_ it's been a while since I've gotten to do that." Jerome spits onto the floor before wiping his mouth on the back of his arm with a chuckle, "Crazy old bastard can't even sing."

Oswald huffs, nervous about how to react, but it's Jerome, so he tries to show his thanks with a joke.

"Guy couldn't carry a tune even if it had handles." He offers, a little amused with himself for it.

Jerome blinks, sputters, and tips his head back into a laugh that makes Oswald grin with pride. He's kind of proud to have made a joke Jerome actually _liked._  Who knows how many people had accomplished _that_ before. It reminds him of the times he'd make riddles for Ed. He'd once sat down for an hour trying to think up a real good one. Ed was positively _beaming_ at him when he'd finally shared it. Of course, Ed solved it right away, but that bright, beautiful smile had made it well worth his time. 

When he writes to Ed, he asks if he's still terrorizing Gotham with his riddles. He ends up spending a little time trying to think of one of his own to send along with it. Not an _hour_ , but a good chunk of time. Ed would probably appreciate it. Maybe he'd send back the answer. Oswald still doesn't know if Ed reads anything that he sends, it wouldn't surprise him if he didn't, but he imagines that same grin on Ed's face as he puzzles together Oswald's riddle. The thought makes him smile as he drops his note into the mail cart.

 

* * *

 

 The guards find Barrow the next day in his cell, tongue lying a few feet away from his body, blood splatter everywhere. Oswald realizes in an amazed moment that Jerome did that for him. At least partly. The sadism behind it was for himself, but the target was for Oswald. It may have been a bit extreme, certainly, but Oswald can't deny he feels a little better knowing he won't have to deal with unwanted licks to the face from an old man that smells like feces. 

Oswald's surprised at just how easy it was to become Jerome's... _whatever he is_. To become _okay_ with it. He's not sure if he's Jerome's bitch, his friend, or just a new way for him to pass time. Maybe he's a mix of all three, but he's not sure he even cares anymore. He's getting good food and has something to _do_ during the days that keeps him away from the doctor's 'therapy' sessions. He's got safety now. People won't fuck with Jerome, and by extension, they won't fuck with the Penguin. He enjoys that knowledge; their fear. Someday soon he'll terrorize everybody here on his own merit, but he's fine with this much for now. 

When he's pulled down into Jerome's lap again, the next show about to start, Oswald decides to wrap his arms around Jerome's neck. He keeps his voice low enough that the people around them don't hear his gratefully whispered, "Thank you." Unsure if he's thanking Jerome for killing Barrow or if it's for everything else he's given Oswald. Either way... he's thankful. 

When the man who spins plates chokes on the long stick in his mouth, Jerome slips a hand from Oswald's back and rests it at his hip, giggling the whole way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, but I had a lot of plot planned for this part and in the end I wrote the longest chapter I've ever written in my life... 6,500+ words. Like... hot damn.

Penguin doesn't have to spend much time wrestling with himself over the idea of following Jerome around anymore. It's easier to feel like it's his own game when he gets far more out of it than Jerome does. _He's_ using _Jerome_ , despite appearances. Someone now personally brings him a tray with well seasoned dishes, and since he doesn't have to wait in line for food, he has more time to relax and enjoy what he eats. The guards are a little more lenient on him these days and that's also no doubt also Jerome's doing. Everyone is afraid of Jerome, and that includes the shady Asylum staff. He hasn't been summoned for any more 'therapy' in months and it's the greatest gift Jerome has ever given him.

Barrow's mutilation is all the rage in the Asylum's whispered news. Though clearly Jerome's work, he hasn't gotten caught. It inspires more terror in the others as it becomes clear that Jerome _never_ gets caught. _Nobody dares_. Oswald feels like he's got a part of that awe-inspiring power now too; Jerome gave it to him. The other inmates don't dare to touch him anymore. In fact, most are too jittery to even make direct eye contact with Oswald let alone wander into his personal space, and that is _exactly_ how The Penguin likes it. He will be _venerated_.

He's on top of the world. For a moment, as he realizes his new position, Oswald is back in Gotham's underworld, ruling with pride and feeding off everyone else's fear.

Sitting in Jerome's lap a few times a day is a small price to pay in return for such power and luxury. In fact, he'd admit it's more comfortable than the cold, metal prison benches anyway. Or the floor. When Jerome wants to be entertained, Oswald makes sure he is. When he feels whimsical and asks for a kiss, Oswald gives him a quick peck. It's easy and simple, and Oswald comes to like it that way.

 

* * *

 

It's a standard, unexceptional day when the guards escort in a trail of new patients. They're from another asylum across the river, also built and specially designed for the criminally insane, just outside of Gotham's city line. A fire had burnt it down in one inmate's escape, and even though most of the patients had gotten away, there's still a good half a busload joining them in Arkham today.

New people means new 'acts' for Jerome. He's easily bored with repeated material, but they're running out of fresh folks to torture and humiliate. Since Oswald had been put in charge of procuring new entertainment for him, new arrivals was good news for _him_. Jerome had given him the task after Oswald put together a special little skit for him. He'd wanted to give Jerome a sort of “thank you” gift for all he'd been doing for him. Mother had raised Oswald with impeccable manners after all, and it was only polite.

Oswald had convinced two of Arkham’s most corrupt guards to meet with him once every few days to practice with the promise of the chance to have fun with their least favorite inmates and fall into Jerome's good favor in one swoop. Usually there were never any Arkham officials in the rec room when Jerome's posse met up, but this time was an exception. Oswald practiced with them for a few weeks before he was satisfied enough to show Jerome what he'd accomplished.

The inmates were tied to their opposing guards, arm to arm, leg to leg and back to chest so the guards could walk around and move the men with them like they were puppets. They staged a fight with some quintessential, dramatic dialogue that Oswald knew Jerome would appreciate. They listed some obscure reasons why they were fighting in strange (clear attempt at foreign) accents, giving each other little shoves, whatever would be entertaining to Jerome.

"You slept with my mother!"

" _You_ slept with my father's sister's cousin.”

"I've always hated your hamster!"

Truly and intentionally ridiculous.

Oswald wasn't actually sure it would be that entertaining (it certainly wasn't to _him_ ), but he watched Jerome's lips quirk now and then, so they were doing something right.

With their body movement out of their own control, the inmates beat each other black and blue. The guards moving them would offer taunts and make them hit each other again. It was an easy success with Jerome after there was a fair amount of bloody violence.

The guards got to take out their frustration and create some favor with Arkham's worst, Jerome got a show, and Oswald got to show his appreciation. Everybody wins. Well... everyone except the two beaten and bloodied inmates.

Jerome tossed an arm around Oswald's neck and praised him with a smile, "Ah ha! What a laugh! It's not quite an _Oscar_ , but I could see daytime TV!" He giggled before leaning closer to purr into his ear, "And here I thought you kept running off to plan your _escape_."

"With _these_ two idiots?" Oswald huffed. "Not likely. They're too easily swayed. I'd pay them to help and they'd get themselves a promotion for turning me in as soon as the money was in their hands."

"Always such a clever birdy. No mean old puddy tat gonna catch _you_." he grinned.

Oswald snickered and went back to watching the show. One of the punches hit a guard instead of the intended victim and in a bit of surprised frustration, he aimed his stooge's next punch at the other guard's head as retaliation. After the guards realized that they were both hitting _each other_ and not their silent partners, they'd started beating harder to get around the inmates. Jerome had clapped and cackled when the they beat each other onto the floor, still attached to their unconscious partners.

It was an unexpected turn of events, but the bloodied, _bumbling_ battle of four had Jerome coming undone with laughter, so no harm done.

Oswald wrote about the new arrivals in his letter to Ed, wondering if, when Arkham inevitably filled up, he'd be escorted somewhere else. He may very well be taken out of Gotham someday, and he'd love to see Edward before that happened. He doesn't explicitly ask Ed to come see him though.... He can't do that. It would break the illusion of friendship he's built through these one sided letters. Oswald simply skirts around the idea and wishes, hopes _maybe_ Ed will read between the lines and decide to drop by. Even if it's just once. That would be enough. He places the letter into the carrier tentatively, like this one held more value than any of the other letters had.

Maybe, if he treated this letter with the _utmost care_ , Ed would be swayed. Ed would come see him.

He doesn't.

* * *

 

 Jerome is messing with Oswald's hair today, teasingly tugging on the tight strands of his bangs and laughing when Oswald makes a fuss about it. He bats Jerome's hands away a couple times, but it doesn't deter him for more than a couple seconds. Oswald had bribed a guard for some hair gel a few days prior and felt a little more at home wearing his familiar hairstyle. It had unexpectedly attracted Jerome's attention.

Now he's wondering if he should have just left it as it was. It would have saved him the embarrassment of Jerome's teasing and a few hundred dollars in bribes.

"So _fancy_ ," Jerome razzes, going so far as to completely ruffle his finely combed hair into a messy disaster.

Oswald gapes, "I _just_ fixed it!"

"You can fix it again during shower time. Chill out." he snorts, "Penguins should always be _chill_."

"That's never funny." Oswald grunts, trying to tame his hair down again and having no luck. "I'm time pressed during shower block anyway. I can't just waste valuable time fixing up my hair in there. The lines always take too long and they rush me through the showers."

Jerome hums. "Would it be easier if you had ‘em to yourself for an hour?"

Oswald pauses, momentarily stunned; he lowers his hands with a frown, "You could do that?"

Jerome's eyes roll as if to say, "Well _duh_."

"I...." Oswald doesn't know quite what to say. He's happy and grateful. He settles for the form of thank you that they've grown accustomed to over the last few months, and kisses Jerome's cheek. "I'd like that. Thank you very much, Jerome."

He's rewarded with a twisted little smile. Oswald would have been hesitant (Jerome's wicked grins meant danger for most) but after spending so much time around Jerome, he's realized that when the cut corners of his mouth upturn like that it's not meant to be a threat. It's as genuine a smile as Jerome's marred face can make. He almost wants to plant another kiss on him just because of it. Jerome's genuine smiles are a rarity and he'd love to be able to encourage more. He'd love to make Jerome smile a lot. He thinks better of it though, deciding instead to just lean against Jerome's chest and not fight him off when he goes to fuck with Oswald's hair again.

If Jerome wants to comment on his sudden resignation, he doesn't show it, but his teasing eventually dies down to a casual pet.

 

* * *

 

 It's so nice to have time to himself under the warm, pebbled spray of water. The privacy of in-home showers was something Oswald would never take advantage of again. Standing under the heated falls without a care reminds Oswald of being home: able to take showers for as long as he wanted without any lingering eyes or jabby hands encouraging him to go faster. He feels relaxed and relieved. It's nice to be alone with his thoughts like this, away from the poking and prodding of other inmates and the watchful eyes of guards.

He takes the time to work through what ails him as the heated water works through his sore muscles.

He thinks about Ed, wonders if he ever reads Oswald's letters. He wonders if he ever plans to reply.

He thinks about Martin, still caught in Sofia's finely polished claws.

He thinks about himself and wonders if he's really ready to adopt Martin once he's out of Arkham and Sofia is dead. It's weighed on him a lot. He so very much wants to have Martin in his life. He always liked the kid, and apart from the obvious shadow of himself he sees in the boy, he knows one day he'll need to pass on his legacy to someone. He can groom Martin into the next ruler of Gotham's underworld and trust that his name will live on long after he's gone….

but also... 

Oswald wants Martin because he's lonely. 

He likes the idea of having someone to share his time with at the end of the day when he wants to decompress. He longs to have someone who will stick around after hours without demanding a favor of Oswald. He wants someone who will want to be around Oswald just because they like him. He wants to spoil someone rotten with everything that he has. What was the point of it all without anyone to share it with anyway?

When he's done, he heads back to his room and sits down to write Ed. He asks him if he'll check in on Martin and tell him how he's doing. He needs to know that Martin is safe-- that he'll be fine. He tacks on a carefully crafted sentence at the end that he _knows_ will speak to a bit of Ed's sensitivity for the well being of the innocent. He knows Ed's got a soft spot for the shy, smart, and troubled ones. Maybe it will compel him to at least look into it, even if he doesn't write Oswald back with the results. He might not bother, but Oswald chooses to believe that he will.

The thought helps lull him sleep.

 

* * *

 

 Peace and quiet within Arkham never lasts long though.

There's an inmate found in a supply closet the next morning without his eyes….

Well, he _had_ his eyes. They just weren't in his head.

He's alive, but whatever happened had clearly been an extremely traumatic experience. When he was found, he'd been clutching onto his removed eyes like they were a lifeline, rocking back and forth and murmuring over and over in panicked repetition. _Stop stop stop stop please_ _stop stop stop please don't take them_ _._

Oswald is uncomfortable as he watches the guards lift the man up, coaxing his... eyeballs out of his hands and meeting insubordination as the poor man desperately tries to get them back. He screams at them and demands they give them back before breaking down and begging.

It's revealed later that the poor man was raped on top of everything else.

It's absolutely disgusting. Oswald wants to hurl his perfectly cooked Omelette Savoyarde into the trash when the news finally gets to their circle, but he fights to keep it in his stomach. It would be a sad waste of perfectly good French cuisine.

The next one is found a day later, eyes cut out and his pants tangled around his ankles. The cuts are deeper and more crude than they were on the first man they'd found. Whatever tool his attacker had used to take out the eyeballs had gone too far in and caused some severe damage. He hadn't survived the resulting blood loss. The doctor states that the corpse is a good few days cold, so he was killed before the other victim had been attacked. It certainly explained the difference between the... removals. He was learning how to go about it.

Oswald _does_ lose his dinner this time when he catches a glimpse of the body being hauled out on a stretcher. The smell alone is putrid enough to make Oswald’s stomach churn, but the way the rigormortis had set made the sight all the more gruesome. Terrified arms covering himself, blood everywhere-- it's a real sight. Oswald finds himself shuffling back and away from it until he's nearly pressed against Jerome's body standing behind him. He won't admit it's a little comforting, even if Jerome doesn't touch him or offer any comfort. Just being near him settles his nerves a little.

Maybe if he sticks close enough to Jerome-- _the deadliest man in the asylum_ \--whoever is doing this won't try going after Oswald.

There's two more found not even a full twenty four hours apart after that, and it's painfully clear that the warden has no clue who's behind it or how to stop it. Oswald wonders if they're going to call the GCPD in to investigate. Maybe he can convince Gordon to help him get out of here before anything happens to _him_. He doesn't hold out much hope though. The people in charge don't seem to want to call the police in on their personal affairs. They hardly ever do. Even if they did, Oswald doubts Jim would actually bother to help him. Not after everything he's done.

 

* * *

 

 Jerome sticks a little closer to Oswald after the fifth victim is found. He hardly ever lets Oswald out of his sight by the sixth and there's an extra guard posted in their hallway all of a sudden.

Oswald isn't sure if he's nervous or just taking wise precautions. Either way, he's insanely grateful and feels all the safer for it.

It's unclear if the mystery rapist goes for the eyes first, deciding to take out his pleasure on his victim after _the deed_ , or if he does it as a safety precaution afterword, so they can't identify him.

Oswald tries not to let it get to him as he showers. He forces the paranoia away when he leaves his room, and he's almost to the shower block with his towel and loofah when he makes the decision that only happy thoughts will be allowed during his precious alone time. He’s excited to be rid of the stress the last few days have built up in his neck. He’s standing between the rows of lockers, shirt over his head before he actually hears the quiet sobs coming from the showers.

Nobody should have been in the shower block during this time, it’s been clear for an hour. Jerome’s people make sure of it the hour before Oswald comes in.

He twists his shirt in his hands until it tightens into a rope. If he has to, he could strangle someone with it.

His steps into the tiled showers are slow and careful. He listens for the sobbing, holding the makeshift weapon at chest height as he creeps closer. When he finally gets a look at the source, he lets the shirt fall to his side.

It’s another victim. He’s coiled around himself and shaking like a leaf. His eyes are spread out on the floor, one near his feet and another rolling around the drain by his head with the falling water.

He calls a guard and sits with the man until help arrives. He’s not good with comforting people, but he tries. God knows this poor devil wouldn’t get it anywhere else in Arkham. He wonders, as the guards drag him up and off the floor, if the staff will even be a little considerate. These people didn't care about the inmates. 

Jerome gives Oswald a skeleton key to the cells when he sees him again at dinner. He doesn't say anything in regards to it, but the message is clear. He can get in and out if needed and he can find Jerome if something happens. _Get out if you need to._ Oswald doesn't know if that's the intended purpose, if Jerome wants Oswald to come looking for him if he's in trouble or if it's just so he can roam freely. Jerome doesn't offer any explanation either.

As they sit to eat, he presses the key in his palms and thinks about escape and leaving Arkham. He hasn’t spent nearly enough time planning to actually do it. Martin would still be at risk if he tried to leave so early, but it’s an option now. He’d have to figure out how to get by the guards at the front door and the cage door that stands in between, but this is a start.

He doesn’t know how Jerome would react if he escaped now either, and some part of him worries that he might come after Oswald. He might be angry. That wasn’t the point of the key anyway. It was for Oswald’s safety.

Once again he owes Jerome, and once again he repays him with a small kiss to his marred cheek.

 

* * *

 

 He's washing his hair when he hears the faint clatter of someone else in the shower block. Oswald is instantly alert, turning fast and wiping the water from his eyes in a panic when he realizes there's a presence standing in front of him. The rapist must have gotten in. Images flash in his mind of the man on the floor, weeping through eyes that couldn't cry, the corneas on the floor feet away from him. He thinks of _what else_ the mystery assailantant does and remembers thinking that not all the blood on the floor had been from the man's eyes.

There wasn't a guard posted on his shower time. It would have been so easy. When the suds are finally out of his eyes he opens them, preparing for a fight, and all the tension drains from him in a rush of relief when he realizes it's only Jerome.

 _Only_ Jerome? At what point had he stopped considering Jerome dangerous? He was an estranged acquaintance at best and an unpredictable threat at worst.

"Easy tiger," Jerome grins, "I haven't come for your _eyes_."

Oswald realizes that Jerome was thinking about it too. He briefly wonders if Jerome was worried about him, and if that's why he's here, but he catches the double meaning behind Jerome's words and thinks better of it. He scoffs, "Have you come for my _backside_ then?"

Jerome's leer is sin, the upturned corners of his mouth seem genuine, but his eyes promise all sorts of things Oswald isn't sure he wants to think about.

"I'm not a big fan of rape, ya see?" he finally says, and Oswald notices there's little space between them at this point.

The spray of the shower is soaking Jerome's uniform, but he looks like he could care less.

"There's chaos for chaos’ sake, violence for chaos, violence for _pleasure_ ," he rolls the word and digs his nails into Oswald's skin. "But that rape shit... That's a whole nother brand of crazy. Real  _nasty_ business."

Oswald tries to make sense of his jumbled explanation so he can agree, but loses his train of thought when Jerome's hand slips over his naked backside. "Now, if your partner is _revved up_ and ready to go, that's another story."

He gasps, jerking away from the hand and unintentionally forward, against Jerome's hip. A wave of horror overwhelms his as he realizes he basically just _grinded up against Jerome Valeska_. He's naked, wet and just touched Gotham's craziest man alive _with his junk_. He's about to start sputtering out a slew of apologies when Jerome digs his fingers into the skin of Oswald's naked cheeks and encourages him to do it again.

Oswald is going crazy; he knows it. He must've slipped in the shower and hit his head. _Hard_.

Jerome smirks, cocking his head to one side as he witnesses Oswald's panicked confusion. He takes the opportunity to lean in and bite a hard imprint into his neck right where it meets with his shoulder. Oswald chokes on his own surprised whimper, slumping forward under the assault and gripping at Jerome's shirt for some kind of support. The fabric is damp in his fingers and irritates his skin as his naked chest falls against Jerome's.

He’s suddenly hyper aware of just how naked he really is in comparison to Jerome. The power imbalance implied by it has his knees buckling, overcome by the unexpected need it inspires. Oswald wants to pretend he’s as keen to be the one in control inside the bedroom as he is out of it.

Jerome flirts around Oswald’s hole with a finger, his other hand slipping between them to grasp Oswald’s half hard cock in his steady hand.

He’s hit his head. This is a hallucination.

Oswald gasps when Jerome spreads the skin between his cheeks with two fingers and lets the spray of the water slip in and around like a caress. “What are you doing?” he finally asks, breathy and soft, his voice overrun with hesitance.

“ _Relax_.” The corner of Jerome’s lips quirk up and he leans into Oswald’s ear, “Just lending a little… _helping hand_.”

Oswald groans, turning his head back and forth against Jerome’s shoulder as the clown strokes him to his full potential. It’s agonizingly good and Oswald doesn’t want to pretend that he wants Jerome to stop. It doesn't seem worth it in the long run.

Instead he wraps his own fingers around Jerome’s and encourages a faster rhythm, much to Jerome’s surprise. He giggles, licking into the shell of Oswald’s ear and thrusting against their knuckles with a groan. Jerome is hard against him, Oswald realizes, and he’s about to comment on it, maybe offer his own hand, but the finger impatiently slipping inside of him closes up his throat. It’s a startling intrusion, but not exactly unwelcome.

Oswald realizes with some hint of rue that he hasn’t given himself pleasure like this in a long time. He hasn’t touched himself in ages, and he hasn’t done anything _back there_ since his early days of fantasizing over Ed; back when his lust was unsustainable and his head was fuzzy with love. He doesn't want to think about Ed right now, not when Jerone's done so much to deserve his undivided attention. It’s not hard to put the thought from his mind when Jerome’s finger begins to wriggle in and out of him in rapid succession.

A whine forces its way out of Oswald’s throat as Jerome presses up into him, brushing against the little spot that shoots stars into his eyes and makes him dizzy with lust.

Oswald writhes back against his hand, fighting between the need to feel Jerome’s finger deeper and thrusting up into his hand. It’s a hard battle, to decide between the two breathtaking sensations and Oswald’s body fights him to attempt both. He cums over his and Jerome’s joined hands before he gets the chance to choose.

He spills between them with a surprised squeak and clings to Jerome’s shoulders as he throws his head back.

Jerome slams Oswald back against the shower wall by his throat and holds Oswald at arm’s length when he pulls himself out of the confines of his asylum uniform. He keeps a furious pace as he stares at Oswald, naked, dripping and grasping onto the end tails of his orgasm with Jerome’s fingers curled around his neck. He must look a sight because Jerome never stops raking hungry, appreciative eyes over him. It's a rush to see it and feel so wanted.

When he cums, the splatter lands across Oswald’s feet. The water falls down Oswald’s legs and carries it away quickly and Jerome almost looks sad to see it go. Oswald wonders if cumming on Oswald gave him the same kind of sense of power it had given Oswald to stain Jerome’s hand with his own.

Oswald is careful not to drop too many hints about what exactly had transpired in the showers when he writes to Ed. He dances around the topic and slyly asks Ed if he'd ever traded ‘favors’ during his time in Arkham. He's certain Ed won't reply to this one, but the idea makes him chuckle.

 

* * *

 

 When the recreational hour rolls around the next day and Oswald plants himself back into Jerome’s lap where he belongs, Jerome is a little more handsy than usual. Oswald chocks it up to an assumed license to intimacy after their time together in the showers and doesn't comment on it.

Oswald is just deciding to say something when he’s interrupted by a collection of crude curses being shouted in the hall. The doors burst open and a line of inmates are being forced onto their knees in front of them like an offering. Oswald realizes rather quickly that they’re the new patients from the Asylum across the river, and he gives Jerome a questioning look when he taps Oswald on the thigh in silent instruction to get up.

Oswald stands obediently near their shared seat as Jerome makes his way over to the row of people, strolling down the line with an air of confidence that makes Oswald shiver and the struggling inmates go still and silent. _This_ is what he admires about the man, the way Jerome can completely capture a room with so little effort.

“Well hello there, _gentlemen_!” Jerome greets, all eerie cheer and menacing promise, “My name, _is Jerome_.”

There’s a flicker of recognition amongst the men and Oswald can see the fear creeping up on them. Jerome’s famous, in _and out_ of Gotham, for his escapades. There's no way they haven't heard of him. If his name isn't enough to recognize him then surely the mangled scars that circle his face are. A few of them flinch away and others try to steel their gazes, facial features tightening with false grit. It’s blindingly clear that they’re all very afraid and Oswald loves to see it.

“Pleasure to meet you all,” Jerome continues, bent forward as he walks so that his face passes by within mere inches of the nervous inmates', “but I’m afraid you're not here just for a friendly little welcome party.”

Oswald watches with piqued professional interest as Jerome intimidates the crowd.

“ _Somebody,_ ” he snarls, voice gravelly and deep enough to entice goosebumps onto Oswald’s skin, “has been _very_ naughty.”

There’s a fearful silence in the group as the men start to stare at one another accusingly. Their eyes all snap back to Jerome when he straightens and grins wickedly, “And I’m going to torture each and every one of you bastards until I know who done it.”

There’s a blur of time as teeth are pulled, nails are stripped away from fingers, and one poor soul loses his pinky toe before somebody squeaks, “ _Please_ …. Please, we don’t know anything.”

Jerome kicks him in the face.

“This shit didn’t start up until you fucksticks showed up a week ago.” Jerome leers, cocking his head to the side and smiling the awful, familiar smile that all of Gotham’s news channels had called haunting. “ _I_ run this place. I don’t care how it worked over there, but _here_ ,” Jerome spread his arms with a flourish before bringing them up to his face, “ _I run the show_.”

One of the men starts sniffling and Jerome rolls his eyes.

“I’ll give you shitstains another day to think it over,” he finally says, gesturing his head towards his men. “Then I forget to be patient and kill you all just to be safe.”

The men are pulled off their knees and dragged back to their cells without another word and Oswald stands, amazed. _Mark me down as scared and horny._ He entertains the idea of asking Jerome to teach him how he does it, but pride prevents him from following through.

Jerome spins back to Oswald with a pleased giggle and slips a hand around his waist, cupping his cheek with the other and planting a big ol’ kiss right on his lips.

 

* * *

 

 Oswald has learned to covet his precious shower hour and make the most of his time alone. Today he’s ready to step under the cold water and wash away the intoxicating image of Jerome reducing a string of criminally insane men into crying little boys.

He’s always had a thing for power, and seeing Jerome in action like that had done things to his body he was a little ashamed of.

Oswald stripped quickly and spun the metal nozzle that started the water. He wet his hair and squirted a generous amount of shampoo into his palm before working the suds into his scalp. He’s got his head under the water to rinse when he gets around to wondering if Jerome will come and join him again. He wants to work up to a release again today, but he’d rather do it with Jerome.

When he feels a warm body sneaking up behind him Oswald smiles and assumes that’s exactly who it is…

The sharp pain in his head as he’s yanked away from the water by his hair is unexpected and sends him toppling onto his back.

He spends a moment gasping, trying to force the air that’s been knocked out of him back into his lungs, before he chances a look up at the looming figure staring down at him.

Oswald immediately recognizes him from the line up earlier as the man who’d spat his molars out at Jerome. He’s the rapist. Oswald is lying naked on the floor with a serial rapist leering at him. He’s going to die like this, he’s sure of it. Oswald opens his mouth to say something, try to talk himself out of this, but he’s given a swift kick to his side before he has the chance.

"Please…" Oswald whimpers, desperately trying to think of a way to get himself out of this.

"You're that clown's _pretty pet birdy_ ," he spits, like the idea disgusts him, and Oswald knows this isn't just about him.

He's got less of a chance to talk his way free now. Whatever motivation this man has for targeting Oswald, it's got to do with Jerome.

Oswald scoots on the floor until his back hits the patterned tile of the shower block wall. He brings a hand up to cover his eyes, hoping he can deter his assailant at least somewhat. He'll lose his eyes, his virginity too, but if he's lucky it won't be his life. He tries to concentrate on what the man says and commit that gritty voice to his memory. He wants to be able to return the favor when it's all said and done.

Grimy hands grab his naked thighs and drag him away from the wall. His head hits the floor with a crack that sounds dangerous, but Oswald ignores it. It's back burner compared to the issue currently holding Oswald's legs down. "Bastard's gonna think twice about threatenin' _me_ ," the man preens.

Oswald doesn't dare to lift his arm and see what's happening. He wants to keep as much attention away from his eyes as he can. With any luck, he may be able to escape with his eyes still in his skull. He's gripping Oswald with a tight pinch, spitting foul curses at him while scratching up and down his legs. It's a disgusting touch-- _nothing like how Jerome's had been_ \--his mind idly supplies. He feels nauseous when the man touches him in some of the same places he'd found so pleasurable when it had been Jerome, now entirely perverse and unwelcome.

He wants to scream and struggle, but keeping his arms around his face is his top priority.

There's a sudden pressure at his hole and Oswald wants to weep. This is going to hurt more than any other sort of torture. This will take Oswald's pride away with it. He steels himself with a heavy, shuddering breath and prepares for the worst.

But before he can go any further, the man holding him down is suddenly gone and Oswald is alone.

He's scared to open his eyes immediately, thinking it may simply be a ploy, but he hears pained grunts and shouts of surprise that eventually spurr him into action. He lifts an arm to peek and spies Jerome, towering over his half-naked assailant and _ruining_ him.

For a moment, Oswald forgets how to breathe. There's so much blood and... _chunks_ of things flying everywhere around him.

Jerome is a beautifully horrid sight, fist crashing into the man's head again and again in a raged frenzy. He's like an unstoppable force, beating the man into the tiles like he's nothing when the force of his actions implies it's _everything_. Oswald can't tell if Jerome is that angry at first, he's hurt people far worse for much less, but there's a small tremble in his hand as he lays into the man. _He's pissed_. The water runs red into the drains after a few seconds, and Oswald is sure that Jerome has killed him.

There's the click of a switchblade that Oswald is all too familiar with, and Jerome crouches over the twitching body. There's a terrible sound, a sickening squelch that makes Oswald's skin crawl, and then Jerome is coming over to him. He doesn't say anything. His eyes look distant and faded. It's such an unnatural look on Jerome's usually clear and alert face that Oswald finds himself feeling scared. He hasn't been afraid of Jerome since their first few weeks in Arkham.

Jerome comes over to Oswald and stoops down into a crouch, holding out his hand out to offer something to him. Oswald can't even tell what it is at first, there's so much blood and it's... extremely mauled. When he finally recognizes that Jerome has _castrated_ the man and is offering Oswald his _cut off penis_ , he starts to gag. He almost faints. Nausea jabs at him in violent demand that he stop looking at it, but he can't. Jerome had fucking neutered someone for... for threatening Oswald?

There's question as to whether it’s really for Oswald's sake, or just another way for Jerome to vent his cruel, aggressive tendencies. But that tremble is still there.

He's too scared to touch the thing in Jerome's hand, so he carefully shifts Jerome's arm until he drops it onto the floor. When there's no longer any danger of having to make contact with... _it_ , Oswald moves forward to wrap his arms around Jerome and mutters a frightened and breathy " _Thank you_ ".

There's blood coming from Jerome's face and Oswald assumes his attacker had tried to defend himself. Jerome doesn't complain when Oswald touches it. He doesn't say anything when Oswald tries to coax some reassurance out of him, and he hadn't hugged back when Oswald thanked him. He's honestly a little worried that something has snapped inside Jerome when he suddenly stands and pivots around, back now to Oswald.

Jerome's knuckles are white around the man's shiv, shoulders haunched as he addresses Oswald coolly, "Why don't you head on home, _darlin'_. I promise I'll try not to work too late tonight." And the warning in his words is so clear they have Oswald fumbling with the effort to stand as quickly as he can on shaky legs to get out of there.

He's not sure what Jerome will do, but he's knows it's not worth waiting around to find out.

When Oswald writes to Ed, he's full of anger and hurt. He's humiliated by the whole affair. He scribbles out the words without finesse and forgoes his trademark use of the English language. His vocabulary is mainly curses. When he's done he doesn't bother re-reading it for any corrections, but he does have to stop to take a breath. He wonders how Ed would react to the letter, if he'd worry. No, Ed wouldn't worry. In fact, Ed would probably think he was weak. He'd clammed up in the moment of pressure, when it mattered. He'd needed _Jerome's_ help. He wasn't strong enough to fend for himself. Oswald crumples the letter up in a fist before tossing it away and going to bed instead.

 

* * *

 

 The guards find the mangled body outside the warden's office the next day. His eyes are gone and his... _meat_ has been shoved into his mouth. More prominently noticeable, are the deep cuts sliced into his chest. The word 'rapist' can be sort of seen somewhere within in the mess of it.

When he meets up with Jerome for breakfast, he doesn't bother with his pride or think about Jerome's reputation. Oswald wraps his arms around Jerome's shoulders and buries his face in Jerome's uniform.

Its immediately clear that Jerome doesn't know how to respond. He stiffens, arms coming up in a mock surrender as Oswald hugs him. " _Thank you,_ " Oswald whispers, words racing out of him in a gasp.

" _Thank you, thank you, thank you._ " He feels like he might be crying a little bit, but his face is buried so no one can see even if he is. It doesn't matter.

Jerome's hands cautiously settle on Oswald's back in an awkward reciprocation. Oswald realizes it might have been years since Jerome was hugged... maybe longer. As he pulls away Oswald realizes there actually a fair chance Jerome has _never_ been hugged before. His face is unreadable as he stares as Oswald, hands still sort of awkwardly hanging around his lower back. He looks like he's not sure what to do with himself now. The idea that someone as powerful as Jerome, feared throughout Gotham, rose from the dead--though technically Oswald has done it a couple times himself--and who created such a legacy of _fear_ had come completely undone with a mere hug... it was absurd.

Oswald laughed before he could think better of it.

"Hey now," Jerome said, finally breaking into a smile before giggling right along with him, "maniac laughter is _my_ thing."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ugggghhh the comments you're all leaving are giving me life. You guys are amazing and I'm so glad this story has been so well received. Thank you so much! Even though now I'm a little nervous about continuing to do a good job...
> 
> Also, big thanks to my amazing Beta for this story (Kaitiedid) who has been super awesome and quick with helping me flesh some stuff out and edit everything. I wanted to credit her. She's kick ass. (And really pretty)

It's only because he's thankful that Oswald sticks to Jerome like glue. It's because he owes him everything: his eyes, his virginity, his life, his sanity while stuck in Arkham, _everything_. It's easy to fall into a comfortable space beside him and not feel too weird about it when he knows that. Maybe it has something to do with Jerome being a little more intimate as well…. Oswald's not used to having someone grant him physical affection of any kind.

At least not without having an ulterior motive.

But Jerome doesn't have one. There's nothing Oswald could give him and there's nothing Jerome can con from him; there's no reason behind his attachment except that he _wants it_. He wants to be touching Oswald. The knowledge leaves him buzzing and overflowing with pride. Gotham's biggest and baddest, Jerome Valeska, likes being around Oswald.

There's a new level of constant physical touch that has become a custom between them. Since the night Jerome had saved him, things had shifted. He keeps himself at Jerome's side and Jerome, in turn, offers him lavish affection and privilege. It feels less like he's hanging around just to make sure Jerome is content with him. Now, he relishes being near him. He feels safer.

In the morning Oswald meets Jerome at breakfast. From there, he trails along as they waste time in the rec room, then lunch. Sometimes they're back in the rec room after lunch, sometimes there's time outside on the grounds, sometimes they just hang around in Jerome or Oswald's cell, but they never separate. Dinner goes by the same as the other meals, Oswald sat in Jerome's lap as they eat, both trays strategically placed so that Jerome has no problem reaching his food around Oswald. Sometimes Jerome lets him try what he's got. Sometimes Oswald doesn't bat away Jerome's hand when he takes some of Oswald's.

At night, just before the guards call for lights out, Oswald returns to his own room and Jerome to his.

He feels less comfortable at that hour. The space feels empty and unprotected without the overwhelming presence of Jerome to occupy it. There's no echoing laughter or aura of power. Sometimes Jerome whispers to him through the vents on nights he hasn't quickly fallen asleep, but it happens far less than Oswald would prefer.

One day, when Oswald had become too reluctant to let Jerome go, he'd followed him back to his cell.

 _But it's out of only adoration_ , he reminds himself. _You're thankful to him and he makes you feel safer._

Jerome drops himself onto the bed with a loud sigh, crossing his arms behind his head and grinning at the ceiling before veering his gaze to watch Oswald fidget in the doorway. He hadn't commented when Oswald didn't break off towards his own room like usual, hadn't uttered a word while they walked the hall, and remained quiet even as they entered his room. Oswald wondered if he was going to say anything at all. He was about to back down and head out when Jerome finally spoke.

He smirked, wriggling his shoulders a little as he made himself comfortable. "Gonna stand there all night?"

Oswald's steps are far more confident than he really feels as he approaches Jerome's bed.

He spends a few moments standing awkwardly and looking down at the expectant Jerome before the clown tsks and reaches up to pull Oswald down by the arm. He tumbles onto the mattress and smacks his cheek against Jerome's chest with a little surprised squawk. He scrambles to move off of him and maneuver around until he's lying beside Jerome instead of on top of him.

Jerome is chuckling beside him when Oswald finally manages to let go of the nervous tension keeping his shoulders tight.

After that, Oswald starts sleeping next to Jerome regularly. Sometimes Jerome jerks them off, sometimes they just lay quietly side by side, but sometimes Jerome lets Oswald rest his head on Jerome's arm while he cards his fingers through Oswald's hair. It's a strangely intimate gesture for him... nothing to do with sex or an exhibition of power and/or dominance. It's a gentle, soothing touch that always makes it easy for Oswald to relax and drift off into sleep.

But they don't talk about it.

 

* * *

 

"Why don't you escape?" Oswald asks one night, his curiosity finally overtaking his sense.

He feels like he can ask now; he has the right to. He and Jerome are comfortable with one another and he doesn't fear Jerome's wrath as much as he still probably should. The man is still insane. He'd kill someone for being dull. Hell, he'd done exactly that two days prior during lunch period. He shouldn't feel as comfortable as he does... but Oswald can't seem to help himself and his blind trust.

"You could leave anytime you want..." he continues, playing with Jerome's sleeve absently.

Jerome lets out a short laugh before rolling onto his back. "Don't want to."

"You don't want to be free? I know you've got power here but you could run things in Gotham just as well.... You've still got followers out there-"

"I don't need a bunch of _cronies_ right now." he huffs, cutting Oswald off. "I'm still here because I gotta find the _creme de la crazy_. Got big plans, y'know." Then Jerome grins, full of teeth and menacing promise. "Something _spectacular_."

Oswald twists around so that he can look at Jerome, frowning. "You're here looking for insane people?"

"Haha! Oh, _baby_ ," Jerome smirks, chuckling deep as he turns his head towards Oswald, "It's _Gotham,_ we're _all_ insane here."

Oswald chooses to change the subject, looking away from Jerome in favor of staring at the ceiling. "I have to escape,” he states plainly, "I've got some unfinished business out there."

"D'awe, but the doc says you're making such _progress_."

Oswald snorts, "Someone I care about is in trouble. A boy I promised I would protect."

Jerome perks up, propping his head up in his palm as he grins down at Oswald. "Why haven't you gotten out already then? _You've got a key_."

"Someone has him. If I try to get out without a plan to take her down, he could be hurt. Or killed…." Oswald trails off. Jerome doesn't need to know about this, he decides to shift gears and quickly get the conversation off of Martin. "There's also the man who tried to kill me. More than once."

Jerome giggles, "I bet a _lotta_ people try to kill you. Every day."

"He was different," Oswald snaps before he can think better of it.

He takes a moment to breathe, to remind himself Jerome isn't in the loop with all the drama that had gone down between him and Edward. He shuts his eyes and focuses on not making any sort of facial expression that could give him away as he speaks. "He was my friend."

"The one you write letters to," Jerome says, jerking his chin forward once in acknowledgment. "The riddle guy."

Oswald realises then that he hasn't written to Ed in over a week; not since the man had attacked him in the showers. He remembers stashing his writing materials away in a huff and distracting himself by spending most of his time with Jerome. He'd hardly even thought about it in the last week. He's a little proud of himself for it. It feels like a step forward. "Yeah," he answers finally, the little bit of self amazement coming through in his tone.

Jerome's expression is indiscernible as he drops his arm to lay on his side. There's a tense moment that follows where the two of them are completely silent. Jerome stares at Oswald with something like intent as Oswald trains his eyes contumaciously at the ceiling and does his best to ignore the stare. He tries very hard not to flinch when Jerome's hand snakes quietly up his chest and starts to toy with Oswald's neck. His fingers are coarse and stiff as they slip around his throat, adding just the tiniest bit of pressure and waiting until Oswald gasps before releasing.

The action has Oswald finally giving in and looking at Jerome. There's a spark in his eyes as he watches his fingers close around Oswald's beating pulse, and he looks like he wants to tighten his grip again when Oswald groans.

Jerome doesn't say anything when he rolls over Oswald, opting instead to lean in to bite at his neck and draw him out of his pants. He's not quite rushed, but he's not patient either. The way he handles Oswald suggests he needs this rather than wants it. He's proving some kind of point to Oswald as he jerks him off and digs his teeth into his skin. Oswald wonders if maybe Jerome's proving a point to himself too.

Jerome is watching with a keen, predatory glint as Oswald cums, eyes flickering between watching Oswald's blissed out face and witnessing the way he shoots up into Jerome's hand.

He looks entirely too smug as he settles back down beside Oswald, taking himself in hand and staring at the cum splattered up Oswald's uniform before he giggles and adds to the mess.

 

* * *

 

It's been weeks since Oswald last wrote to Ed.

Oswald feels both a great sense of pride and accomplishment at this marvelous feat. He's working through his issues with Ed and slowly coming to terms with the fact that they're not friends anymore. Forget anything as romantically charged as lovers, they're not even _acquaintances_ at this point. It's hard, but Oswald is managing.

It's a mundane morning when Oswald has it all thrown back at him.

He's sat in his usual seat atop Jerome's thighs when he catches a glimpse of those annoyingly charming glasses; the same glasses that always framed Edward's face so well and made his eyes appear bigger and brighter. He nearly falls off of Jerome's lap when he realizes that Edward is right there, being escorted into the cafeteria by two guards, and donning a stripped Arkham uniform. He's been caught, taken in and now he's _here_. He's _here_ and Oswald's heart is pounding in his head.

He drops his fork onto his tray with a clatter that draws Jerome's attention. He follows Oswald's gaze over to the tall, lanky newcomer and starts up a howl of maniac giggling. His tone is teasing and harsh as he presses his face against Oswald's to speak into his ear, "Is that the riddle guy? Imagine running into _him_ in a place like _this_."

The guards remove Ed's handcuffs and push him forward into the line for food with a hard shove. Edward's caught the sound of Jerome's laughter and is looking right at them now. Their eyes meet and Oswald is sure that he forgets how to breathe for a moment.

Ed is _here_. How intelligent of the officials to lock them up together again, because the last time the two of them had been dumped into adjacent cells had gone _so well_. Blow darts and crude commentary were the least of his worries now, Oswald realizes, as Jerome digs his fingers into Oswald's hip and chuckles in the way that always means trouble. "I never did like puzzles. They're not very _funny_."

Oswald had never wanted to kill Ed, despite what he said. He wanted Ed to feel hated and know that Oswald didn't care anymore. He wanted him to hurt. It was a blatant lie cultivated from his own broken heart. But now... Jerome was an unpredictable factor in their dance. He _would_ kill Ed. Maybe just for shits and giggles.

He watches Edward bleakly drop down onto a bench with his tray before looking back over to where he and Jerome are seated. He wants to get up and talk to him. He wants to know _why_ Ed is here. Had Gordon caught him for something? What was going on out there in the streets?

Had he ever gone to see Martin?

The arm firmly wrapped around his waist prevents him from going over to ask anything.

 

* * *

 

 Oswald's more than anxious for a good shower today. The stress of seeing Edward has put an added strain on the muscle in his leg and he's eager to run some hot water over it. He's learned to check the shower room before he undresses, just in case. He's relieved to find it empty. Some bit of him worried that Edward would try to get him alone, get back at him for what he did to Isabel-- _Isabella_  

If he's gotta die because of her, he should probably bother to finally acknowledge her name.

He's only just closed the little locker door on his clothes, tightly holding the towel around his waist with the other hand, when he hears someone clear their throat.

Oswald startles away from the sound instinctively, letting out a surprised little yip as he finds the face of his shower-time-intruder. Ed looks paler in the medical light of Arkham's locker room. His glasses reflect the light away from his eyes, almost making it appear that Edward's eyes hold small suns. When he takes a step forward however, Oswald can see just how dead they really are.

Oswald holds up a cautionary hand between them, raising his chin to appear more confident in his warning than he really is. If Ed's come to kill him again, this time he's not going to waste his time begging. He'll uphold an air of grandeur that Ed will remember even after he's gone.

Minutes pass between them in terse silence. Ed's not even looking at his eyes, Oswald realizes, he's staring at Oswald's bare chest.

Oswald goes red and brings his arm back to cover whatever he can while stumbling out something to get the inevitable, terse conversation going. "What are you here for?"

Edward seems to startle out of his silent stare, eyes lidded like he's a little embarrassed. "I stole an antique sword from the Gotham Museum of Antiquities."

"You got caught for _theft_ ? Really? _You_?" Oswald gawked.

Ed frowns with something akin to irritation. "I was distracted."

" _Nothing_ distracts The Riddler," Oswald retorts, the name leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

Ed snorts once, quick and irked. "You stopped sending me letters all of a sudden," he confesses, "I wondered if someone had killed you."

Oswald tries not to let any sort of hope rise from that. It doesn't mean anything strictly profound. In all likelihood it had only bothered Ed because if Oswald was dead, if would have meant he hadn't been able to kill Oswald himself. Oswald forces away any optimism he has felt and focuses on that; knowing that Ed wants him dead.

"Did you really get yourself caught because you thought I might be dead?" he heckled. "What, did you realize you wanted to do it yourself? Is that why you're here? To kill me?"

"I sure hope not!" A new voice chimes in from the locker room doorway, the light, sinister giggle of an oh so familiar clown reminding Oswald where they were. "Good ol' Ozzie here is just a _barrel_ of fun! I'd hate to lose such a great party guy."

Ed looks incredibly irritated as Jerome slips an arm around Oswald's waist, casual as you like, and sets his chin on Oswald's shoulder. He looks incredibly smug as he stares at Edward, daring him to say something about his and Oswald's strange entanglement. "I hear ya like riddles."

It's a little funny to watch Ed sputter for a moment, obviously not expecting a question like that from Jerome. "I enjoy an intellectual challenge."

Jerome smirks, "Are you stupid? Are you stupid? Are you stupid?"

Oswald is confused at first, wondering what Jerome is saying before he recognizes the look of minute concentration Ed always wears when faced with a dumb riddle. His lips purse as if he’s tasted something sour and his brows knit together with frustration. He squares his shoulders and replies to Jerome like he's speaking to a child, "No."

"Wrong!" Jerome cheers, pulling back just a little from Oswald as he starts to giggle at Ed, "The answer's yes. But then, if you’d _said_ yes, then you’d be smart and the answer’d be no. You’re wrong either way. Isn’t that a good one, riddle man?"

"I am _The Riddler_." Ed bites out, face indiscernible for a moment as he exchanges glances between Oswald and Jerome before sneering, "and that's a simple-minded riddle; _juvenile_ at best."

Jerome shrugs, "Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe."

The annoyed leer Edward offers in reply sets Oswald a little on edge. The room is tense apart from Jerome's echoing laughter, continuing even after Ed turns to leave and only growing louder when he slams the door on his way out.

"Ahhh," Jerome sighs, wiping an eye as his chuckling dies down to a few hiccupy chortles. "We gotta get you some better security for shower time, Ozzie. People just _keep_ finding their way in here."

"If you think so..." Oswald replies, still feeling a little lost and staring after Edward.

He's got so much running through his head. It's a mess. He's off in space working through theories and decisions of what he'll do next and-

Jerome grabs his chin and spins his face around until he's inches away from Jerome's teasing grin. "Why the long face, sweetums? Didn't you want your revenge on him? You can kill him now, he's _here_. No need to get out there to take a crack at em'." Jerome cackles, cocking his head to the side before leaning close to Oswald's ear, "Hell, I can get someone to hold him down for ya if you want."

Oswald, startled and confused, wants to push Jerome away for the first time in months.

He doesn't feel the same anger towards Edward that he did. Seeing him had absolutely deflated any malice he'd still been childishly holding on to. He thanks Jerome politely, but declines his offer. When Jerome's face becomes unreadable, a carefully blank expression taking place over the ever-present smile, Oswald decides the topic has officially been dropped.

He abandons his towel on the floor and proceeds with his planned shower, not caring if Jerome is still standing behind him. He's seen it all before plenty of times. Hell, Jerome might even be more well acquainted with Oswald's naked body than _he_ is. He can look. Oswald doesn't care; he just wants to wash away whatever weird scenario he'd just experienced. When Jerome slinks up behind him and starts sucking hickeys into Oswald's neck he doesn't comment on it, doesn't ask _why_ Jerome is suddenly deciding to leave a visible mark on him. Mostly because he already knows. There's some weird tension between Jerome and Edward, and Oswald has been pulled right into the middle of it. If Jerome wants to mark Oswald that's fine, but he certainly doesn't need to.

Ed doesn't want him; he doesn't care. He won’t be affected by it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys are crazy. Thank you so much for all of the support you've been giving me! I am so amazed... really. I can't even explain how much I appreciate it. This story has been a blast so far and I'm so glad everyone is loving it as much as I am. :)
> 
> Sorry for the long update wait, I've got 5 ongoing stories right now and I'm trying to wrap up the ones that are close to completion so that I can carry on with these new beauties~ but then family came to visit, I got a new job, had appointments all week(and more the rest of this week) and I've had a lot less free time to really sit down and write like I've had previously.
> 
> Also, there's not exactly a perfect timeline for this, so roll with my mistakes as they come...

Edward notices the hickeys on Oswald's neck the next day, because _of course_ he does.

And of course, it causes some problems.

Oswald has only just started in on his English pea salad when Edward drops down onto the bench in front of them, startling Oswald into spilling his forkful of food back onto the tray with a jolt. Jerome doesn't seem to mind, or at least he isn't voicing any irritation over Ed's sudden presence. His eyes had widened a mere fraction when Ed sat down, but he hadn't reacted with more than a raised eyebrow before stuffing a spoonful of pudding into his mouth.

" _So_ ," Ed starts charismatically, smile stretched to his ears as he makes himself comfortable at their table, twirling his spork between his fingers with the same impish charm Oswald used to find hard to resist, "Are you two..?" he questions, gesturing between them with a seemingly casual wave of his hand.

"Yes."

" _No_." Oswald forces out at the same time, a little surprised with himself at its urgency.

The body behind him stiffens ever so slightly, and Oswald hesitantly wonders if he's upset Jerome.

He catches Edward's cocky gaze easily. Ed is staring just past Oswald with an unreadable expression, clearly holding a look with Jerome as they size each other up. Jerome must indicate _something_ with his face because when he shifts back to looking at Oswald, his grin has grown impossibly wider. But his smile isn't pleasant or at all friendly. Oswald recognizes the sneer on Ed for what it was, a cocky attempt to hide how he really felt. It was the same one he used when feigning indifference towards something that quite  _clearly_ upset him. The first time he'd played Oswald, pretending that he didn't hate him after finding out what he'd done to Isabella, he'd worn that unpleasant grin. Oswald doesn't completely understand why he's wearing it now.

A hand slips over Oswald's stomach as Jerome drops his chin onto Oswald's shoulder. He can almost feel Jerome's smile against him, the one that's all teeth and doesn't reach his eyes. It's irritated and forced and Oswald  _knows_ he's just fucked up big time. Something fierce is brewing between the two men and Oswald is, quite literally, stuck in the middle of it.

"No," Jerome repeats, a tauntingly tight tone twisting within the curls of his cut lips, "We're not in a  _relationship_..." he elaborates, "But Pengy here  _is_ my obedient little bitch."

Jerome takes the next moment to chomp down hard on the tip of Oswald's ear and Oswald is so startled that he yelps. It's embarrassing... and it's only because he's _sure_ Jerome would move Oswald's arms away just to embarrass him further that he doesn't try to cover his face with his hands.

Ed's smile falters just a little, Oswald can see it, but Ed merely cocks his head to the side. "Must be a terribly  _boring_ lay," he sneers, "what with the  _limp_."

He practically spits out the last word, punctuating the pop of the 'p' for all it's worth and it  _hurts_. Oswald's chest is pounding and he wants to reach across the table and throttle Ed. He wants to rip that cocky smile right off his face with his  _very_ dull nails. It had stung when Jerome called him his bitch, certainly, but Oswald wouldn't have expected anything else from someone like Jerome. Ed had been his friend. He'd  _loved_ Edward. He's about to stand up and leave but Jerome's arm tightens impossibly around him and holds him right where he is.

" _Actually,_ he's  _real_ enthusiastic," Jerome replies cheerily. He slips the hand at his stomach under Oswald's shirt and trails it all the way up to his neck, tenderly wrapping his fingers around Oswalds throat. The movement rucks up Oswald's top and leaves him looking a little debauched as Jerome continues, "and I just hold his legs above his head myself when I  _fuck_ him."

If Oswald wasn't so breathless he'd scream at Jerome.

And then Ed.

They're both being  _impossibly_  horrible towards him and Oswald doesn't know why.

He feels the unexplainable need to tell Edward that they have _not_ actually had sex. Jerome is just tugging on his chain, trying to get a reaction out of him. He opens his mouth to say as much, head pounding with the frustration of it all, but Edward is already speaking, venom laced in every hurtful word as he leans forward to rest his chin atop his folded hands.

"Does he still cry and talk about his  _feelings_?"

And that's it.

That's the last hit that Oswald can take today.

The final straw breaks under the weight of their scrutiny and Oswald has had it. His eyes sting with hatred and he needs to leave before either of them get the chance to see his moment of weakness. He shoves Jerome back with all his strength, knocking him right off the bench and onto the floor with an "oompf". Jerome is cackling when Oswald stands, glaring at Ed, who looks extremely surprised to see Jerome on the ground and unangered. Oswald doesn't wait for Ed to look at him before he strikes him  _hard_ across the cheek  _._ The action recaptures his attention completely anyway.

There's a satisfying red glow sprouting over Ed's cheek when he recovers, gaping up at Oswald like he's grown another head.

Oswald doesn't apologize.

He stares Ed down and does his best to let his disgust project as he bites out curses, "Fuck you, Edward Nygma.  _Fuck. You_."

He turns before Edward can reply and limps away with his fists clenched at his sides, Jerome's hysterics only getting louder as he goes. Curse them. Curse them both.

 

* * *

 

Now that Edward is at Arkham, Oswald has no excuse to write out his feelings and frustrations in the form of a letter. He's lost his outlet. He could always pretend... write a letter up and then just toss it into the bin once he was finished... but it feels like too cold of an action now.  He enjoyed thinking someone would read his words and possibly understand him. He liked pretending Ed would sympathize. Besides that, writing to Edward _about_ Edward seems like it would kill the fire he wants so desperately to let out. He would write to Martin, but he had no doubt that Sofia would intercept any sent mail for him. Oswald was certainly not ready to risk dispelling any of his personal life to someone like her.

So he sits alone in his room, sulking on the bed with his arms crossed over his knees.

Oswald feels so lost and angry, hurt and alone. He might have liked to talk to Jerome, but you cann't very well talk to someone when the problem _involves them_. He could limit himself to discussing Edward only, but that seems like the wrong thing to be venting to Jerome about as well.... As close as they had gotten in the past months, he still has reservations about letting Jerome into his personal life.

When Oswald's cell lock clicks and the door begins to slowly creak open, he expects to see Jerome on the other side. Jerome coming to visit him is nothing new. He liked visiting Oswald, had a key, and who _else_ would it be?

The thought sparks a moment of panicked hesitancein Oswald, thinking maybe his visitor might be someone coming to take him away for 'therapy' again. Maybe he really _had_ pissed off Jerome when he pushed him, like he feared. Maybe his safety had been too good to last and now he was going to be tossed right back into the real runnings of Arkham.

When the door finally swings all the way open, it isn't a doctor.

It isn't Jerome either.

Edward stands awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before he finally takes a couple cautious steps inside.

Oswald gapes up at him. "How did you-?"

"Guard's an old friend from the GCPD," Ed offers quickly, shutting the cell door behind himself once he’s inside.

Oswald scoffs, crude, "You didn't have _friends_ at the GCPD."

If Ed is bothered by his intentionally coarse words, he doesn't show it. Instead he smiles rather politely, clasping his hands together behind his back and straightening his posture in a way that means he’s taking on the attitude of The Riddler, the meticulous and cruel villain and no longer Ed, the sweet and hopeless nerd from the M.E.’s office.

"I advised him on how to keep his girlfriend a secret," Ed says simply, "from both his wife _and_ his mistress."

Oswald's brow shot up and he couldn't help but huff out a little chuckle. It had to have been an amusing situation to find your co-worker in. Oswald had never held enough temperament or patience to try and keep one woman, let alone _three_. When Ed's expression turns fond, Oswald quickly turns himself away. He doesn't want to see anything that reminds him of the days he and Ed were still chummy. He doesn't need any painful memories confusing him while he attempts to hold a grudge.

And Oswald _is_ still mad.

The Penguin would have promised to take his revenge against them both, full of spite and anger, but right now Oswald doesn't feel much like the dreaded Penguin of Gotham. He feels insignificant and confused. His feelings are a jumbled mush pulling him this way and that and he _doesn't like it_. He wants nothing more than to drop his head into his mother's lap and confess what troubles he's going through. He wants to decompress as she runs her fingers through his hair and offers endearing words in another language. He doesn't feel like being the Penguin, he feels like plain old Oswald.

It rattles him that he's so weak right now.

Oswald knows if he starts to dwell on his mother he'll go crazy. There's enough going on without returning to the pain of losing her. He debates threatening Ed until he leaves, maybe with some of Jerome's powerful influence, but he rethinks that idea rather quickly. Oswald still doesn't know if he'd offended Jerome too badly at lunch. He might very well have lost his good standing with the man over that. Who knows.... Jerome was as unpredictable as the sea and twice as likely to drown Oswald if he really _was_ upset.

Oswald bit the inside of his cheek and ordered himself to stop with that line of thinking.

"What do you want, Ed?"

Edward shifts his weight awkwardly from one foot the other, not looking at Oswald. There's a small moment of silence between them before Ed finally decides to answer. "I'm sorry," he says hesitantly, voice low, and it almost feels like he'd fought with himself in order to say it.

Oswald has no idea how to react to it.

There's too much history between them for him to outright believe that Edward is truly apologetic. The Riddler uses manipulation as his main method of getting what he wants, what's to say this isn't simply that? Oswald frowns, glaring up at Edward before snapping at him bitterly, "Don't tell me you're sorry if you don't mean it."

"I _do_ mean it," Edward replies, an unusual expression on his face.

Oswald would almost call it remorseful, if he didn't know Ed so well. He thinks on it, keeping his glare level as he pushes for more. "Why did you say those horrible things?" he starts, trying to mask the hurt in his voice, "What drove you to.... My _limp_ , Edward. You _know_ how I feel about that, and yet you...."

"...I was angry."

" _Why_?"

Ed doesn't answer. He lets his hands drop from behind and goes back to awkwardly moving himself around in lieu of a reply. Oswald used to think Ed's occasional nervousness was cute, but right now it's just mildly annoying.

He wants to fight out this issue with him, let Ed know how angry he is and ask him why he can't just _forgive_ Oswald and then they can get past this awful tension between them. He wants them to yell at each other, waste their energy with arguing until they're both too tired to hold onto the careful facades they continually keep. When they've completely exhausted each other then they'll be able to talk like normal human beings, Oswald can let his guard down and actually speak with Edward.

When he realizes that Ed's not going to answer him, he decides to ask another question. He sighs, deflated, before raising his head slightly, "Did you ever go to check on Martin?"

Edward's jittery movement stills and he actually manages to crack a small smile. "Cute kid," he says, and Oswald's hope soars. "He's at Sofia's orphanage right now, safe, but I think he knows that something is off."

It's a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. He stands to make his way to Ed, his worry for Martin taking priority over his frustrations with the man. "Did you talk to him?" he rushes out.

"He misses you..." Ed replies, staring at Oswald with surprised, wide eyes as he gets closer, before clearing his throat and adjusting his composure. "He asked how you were. I gave him a few of your letters."

"You gave him my letters?"

"Only ones that were appropriate... and wouldn't worry him." Ed smirks then, "He liked your riddle."

Oswald hates that he immediately wants to know what _Ed_ thought of it. "Did you get it?"

"Penguins," he smiles, "the answer was penguins."

Oswald can't keep the small grin off his face. "Of course. I knew you would get it." He shakes his head, backing off a step or two as he realizes how close he's gotten. "Thank you, Ed."

"Is he why you didn't escape? I'm sure Jerome could've gotten you out at any time," Ed says, somewhat cautious, "He seems to run the place."

He nods, "I can't leave until I know how to take care of Sofia. I won't put Martin at risk." Oswald sighs and adds, for no particular reason, "And we... didn't actually have sex, Edward."

Edward's eyes have widened again, if only a fraction, and Oswald finds he's really enjoying repeatedly throwing Ed off balance, "You've got hickeys." he points out with a huff, gesturing to Oswald's neck.

Oswald raises a startled hand to the bite; he'd forgotten it was there. He might be blushing, but Oswald does his best not to seem too embarrassed as he admits to them having... _'helped each other out'_ now and then, but he's quick to push that they haven't done more than that.

Edward's seems very tightly wound, expression well schooled as he carefully asks, "Does he... He doesn't _force_ you to-?"

"Oh no! It's not like that." Oswald insists, raising a hand to stop Edward from finishing his sentence, "...He's been very good to me."

"So you let him touch you as, what, thanks?"

Oswald tries not to read into how that makes him sound. He's not wrong, that was how it had started. Oswald had let Jerome do as he pleased because he wanted to keep a hold of the privileges that came with it, but that had changed some time ago. "It's not like that anymore..." he settles with, hoping Edward will stop asking about it.

He's not in the mood to try and dissect his strange relationship with Jerome just now.

"...Okay." Edward offers, that odd expression on his face again.

Oswald nods decisively, grateful to be moving past that sensitive topic of conversation. He's still standing near Edward, closer than he's been in... possibly years. He should definitely be scared of Edward taking hold of the opportunity to exact his vengeance, but some of the tension between them has dwindled. Oswald isn't naive enough to believe that everything has magically become better now, but this... this feels like a start. Oswald decides on a whim to test his luck, shuffling forward to wrap his arms around Edward's middle before Ed can protest.

He doesn't say anything even as Edward stiffens beneath his grip. He's surprised, clearly, Oswald himself is a little amazed. He's in the perfect position for Ed to drive a shiv into his back. It would be so easy, and Oswald is utterly defenseless. Oswald flinches when Ed finally moves.

But he doesn't stab Oswald. He doesn't kill him or threaten to inflict any damage.

Instead, Edward hesitantly returns the hug.

A rush of air forces itself out of Oswald's throat, nearly choking with relief. Edward is hugging him back… It’s not hopeless.

"I..." Ed starts, voice cracking slightly before he manages the rest, "missed you, Oswald…."

There's no way to tell if it's just the atmosphere that finally breaks Oswald down, if it's Edward's omission or simply the fact that _Ed hugged him back_ , but Oswald gives up. All the things Oswald has been wanting to say to him since he started writing those _stupid_ letters comes out in a rush. It's raw, vulnerable, and Oswald would curse himself for letting his guard down so low in front of Ed again but all he can think of is the words flying out of his mouth.

"I missed you _so_ much, Ed." Oswald blubbers out, "I didn't know if you even bothered to read my letters but... but _I always hoped_. I tried so hard to just stay angry at you but I don't think that I can. _I don't want to_. I want to go back to the friendship we once had and I know you may not feel the same but I want to try anyway. Will you ever be able to forgive me for-?"

Edward pulls Oswald's head in close to his chest to shush him. He's smiling, Oswald realizes. "I can't promise that I'll be able to _completely_ forgive you anytime soon, Oswald... but I can promise to try."

It's not everything that Oswald could ever wish for, but damn it, it's a big step forward. He has a million questions he wants to ask, starting with Edward's thoughts on his letters, but he's unable to get anything out before Edward is stepping back.

"We should... start working on a plan," Edward says before Oswald can speak, "I've been studying Sofia for a while now. I can help."

"What a good idea!" a third party sings, and Oswald jumps. "She sounds like an absolute  _bitch_."

Jerome's voice, filtering through the vents nearly knocks the two off balance with surprise. Edward looks like he's just encountered a ghost, eyes darting around the room with confusion before Oswald limps over to the vent on the opposite wall and stares up at Ed, amused. "I told you in my letters-"

"I forgot."

Oswald doesn’t admit that he sort of had too...

"Well, I'm _really_ hurt," Jerome says, sarcastic tone echoing into their room. "Forgetting about _me_ ," he gasps, " _the nerve_. Hope I'm not missing out on the party over there! Better not be having _too much_ fun."

Edward looks completely chastised, looking at Oswald apologetically as he sighs, "I'll talk with you more about this tomorrow, Oswald." And he turns to leave without any more than a simple nod.

Once he's gone, the door is shut and the guards call finally call for lights out, Oswald sinks down the wall until he's sitting beside the vent. He sighs audiabaly, leaning his head against his shoulder and letting his eyes drift shut, suddenly feeling rather exhausted. "I wasn't expecting _that_."

A snort comes from the other side of the vent, "Well don't look at me. I'm not a magician. Only played one for a night."

Oswald smirks, shaking his head once before blurting out, "I didn't upset you too badly at lunch today, did I?" he takes a breath, "When I pushed you?"

Jerome sounds a little terse as he coos, "As sweet as it is that you worry about lil ol' me, where's that powerful little kingpin I remember? I like him better. Like the _ruthless_ type more than the distressed damsel thing."

Frowning, Oswald tucks a knee up to his chest, "I won't ask next time then."

"Good." There's a moment of pause, then the telltale click of Jerome's tongue, "Don't get soft on me now, Ozzie, baby. Ya can't afford that in here."

Oswald huffs, taking on as confident an air as he can, "You let me. You like being the strong one."

The silence that follows is hesitant, and Oswald wonders for a moment if he's overstepped. When he cranes his neck to peek through the vent, his eyes catch Jerome's, looking more worn than they had earlier that day. He settles back onto his arm, lying on his side as he gives Oswald a meaningful look, "Not gonna be around to run the show for you pretty soon. You're gonna have to start flapping your wings on your own again."

Oswald tries to shove away the feeling of warmth that floods his chest as he's reminded again that Jerome cares for his well being. "I'll be okay."

Jerome hums, "You think riddle man is gonna have your back out there?"

"I don't know..." Oswald answers honestly, "I never thought he'd be able to forgive me at all... but... he said he would try."

"Think he was tellin' the truth?"

Oswald sighs, letting his head hang tiredly again as he leans against the wall beside the vent, "I'd like to believe he was."

Jerome is quiet again. The silence is companionable though, and Oswald doesn't feel the need to break it. He's grown used to the silent moments where Jerome just thinks. He's only a little surprised when Jerome huffs, voice sounding just a tad distant as he asks, almost as an afterthought, "You still carry a torch for him, dontcha?"

"No," Oswald answers first, on impulse more than anything else, then shakes his head even though Jerome can't see it, "...Maybe."

Jerome hums once in acknowledgement, and when he takes up silence again. Oswald waits patiently for his thought out response, wondering during the quiet moments of waiting how Jerome will react. He holds his breath for what feels like hours, but Jerome is quiet for the rest of the night, and eventually he gives up to waddle back to his own bed.

 

* * *

 

When Oswald heads to his private shower there's a guard posted outside, nodding silently to him before Oswald enters the locker rooms. Jerome doesn't come to join him, Ed doesn't come to talk about their plans, and Oswald realises it's actually first shower he's had alone in a long time.

He lets himself remember the safety of the guard in the hall, and relaxes under the warm water.

When he goes to lunch, Oswald finds Edward already sitting at their table across from Jerome. Jerome smiles up at Oswald as he nears, but his usual cheery grin seems just a little off. He quickly notices that his tray is sitting beside Jerome today, no longer set for him where he can easily reach it from Jerome's lap. He realizes then why the setting feels unusual. Jerome isn't expecting Oswald to sit between his legs today, just beside him.

It's weird to sit alone again. There's no warm wall of protection caged around him, no shield of safety encircling him so he can enjoy his meal in peace. Oswald decides immediately that he doesn't like it. He wonders if he could just slide over into his usual seat anyway, but Jerome's elbows are planted on the table, one on either side of his tray as he eats, closing off Oswald's coveted seat, so he stays where he is.

"Are there any ideas you've already got?" Edward asks, breaking the silence at the table, question directed at Oswald, "You've been here for a while, I'm sure you had time to think something up."

"A few..." he states simply, poking at the crepes he knows would be absolutely delicious if he only felt hungry. "Nothing solid or well formed though. I've been... kind of preoccupied. I also haven't had a chance to contact anyone outside."

"I'll get a phone," Jerome says, chewing on a bite from his nearly comically sized stack of pancakes. Extra syrupy.

Oswald glances at him, "You can do that?'

Jerome snorts. Of course he can.

Oswald's little smile is enough to warrant a returned smirk from Jerome, and for a moment Oswald forgets Ed is watching them diligently from the other side of the table.

"Well, we should probably start throwing around some ideas," he says, snapping Oswald out of the moment.

Jerome stuffs another bite into his mouth and says nothing, staring at Ed like he's challenging him to comment on it. He doesn't, but he returns the look with a tight glare.

They spend most of the breakfast period tossing out a few lackluster ideas, some crazier than others (Thank you, Jerome). Mostly they're half cocked or too extravagant to be practical. Send in a mole to steal Martin away in the night, ship him off to some foreign country where Sofia can't find him again. Edward suggests having someone donate a sizeable amount of money and becoming a board member to better infiltrate, or having someone adopt Martin. Oswald does his best not to cringe when he thinks about having some stranger adopt Martin, but the others seem to catch it anyway.

Jerome jokingly says it would be easier if the kid was just gone, and Oswald tries very hard not to think about what he would do if Martin died.

"It'd just be easier," Jerome says in defence when Edward glares at him, "You could always just _pretend_ to kill em'."

And _that_ idea finally catches everyone's attention.

"How would I do that?" Oswald asks, curious in spite of how much he hates the idea of a dead Martin.

Jerome chuckles and tosses his arms behind his head, apparently having eaten his fill. "I've always been a fan of a good car bomb."

"Something like that would take a while to really flesh out..." Edward admits, looking at Oswald with a sorry expression.

"I can wait," Oswald says quickly, not even having to think about it, "I can stand Arkham another few months if that's what it takes to get Martin back safely."

 

* * *

 

 When recreational time rolls around, Oswald finds Ed present as well, standing along the wall that Oswald had once occupied when he first came to be under Jerome's thumb. He doesn't stop to say hello, but he does nod once on his way over to Jerome. When he gets there, he's surprised to see the seat on the floor beside Jerome unoccupied. Jerome's posture is closed off, just like it had been at lunch, and it becomes clear that Oswald is once again expected to sit somewhere else.

He remembers lunch, the discomfort he'd felt without that wall of safety Jerome's handsy presence behind him had offered. He doesn't want to deal with that again.

Jerome looks up at him expectantly when Oswald doesn't immediately sit on the floor, one eyebrow raised and a question about to form on his lips, and Oswald makes his decision.

He smacks Jerome's hand off of his thigh and gestures for him to sit up. He's confused, but he obeys, leaning back and opening Oswald's usual space back up to him. When Oswald takes his usual seat and leans back against Jerome's warm chest, he feels Jerome's entire body uncoil. He feels like he's won somehow when Jerome starts to laugh. Oswald is proud of himself, and lets his shoulders slump when Jerome wraps a familiar arm around his waist, giggling the whole way.

He doesn't look up for Edward's reaction to the whole affair, but he's sure there must have been one. He'd probably been just as surprised as Jerome.

Jerome's bursting and bubbly when he plants a big, sloppy kiss on Oswald's cheek and rears his head back with a laugh. He throws an arm out and addresses everyone else, ordering the 'show' to start.

While things may be different now that Ed's here, Oswald still owes Jerome everything. He still feels attached to him in some indescribable way, and he doesn't want to lose that just because it might make Ed a little uncomfortable. Oswald sighs as a woman steps forward with a necklace made of small bones strung around her neck, and listens to the pleasant rumble of Jerome's laughter against his back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Oh my gosh_ this was a slow update and I apologize for that. Going to be starting school in a couple months (and moving to a place with _extremely_ limited internet access) so I'm rushing to finish up all the other ongoing stories I have _and then_ while I was editing the first chapter of a draft for another story I accidently posted it and now there's even more to do. I have so much work to do and I want to get all these stories done so that nobody is left hanging for a year... 
> 
> I also happened to be a little bit at odds with my beta... so that was slower too. She had started just correcting my format rather than reading the story for the plot/characterization pointers I really want. My format is how I like it and it's a hassle to go back and re-change it even if I tell her I don't want her to change it. (-=-) I've also always been hesitant with Betas because it takes a lot longer in the end. Takes a while to get scheduled with each other to go over it and I'm debating forgoing a beta for the rest of the story. I'm worried about possibly sacrificing the quality if I do though. Opinions on that?
> 
> So yeah, that's why this took for-bloody-ever.... but enjoy anyway. XD

Ed's presence doesn't change much of the routine that Oswald and Jerome have become accustomed to.

Oswald does his best not to let it.

He owes Jerome that much at least. He still clings to the clown like a leech, tagging along behind him during their day-to-day activities and occasionally slipping into his room with him when quiet hours finally come around. It's not as often as it was, and Oswald now feels a little awkward when he slinks away, catching Ed's nervous glance every time he veers off course to follow Jerome instead of going to his own room. Jerome doesn't touch him anymore though. Well, _he touches him_ , but his roaming hands don't drift any lower than Oswald's chest or up to the middle of his thigh. He doesn't touch Oswald _there_ anymore.

Oswald doesn't know if he should be upset about it or not, and decides to view it as a blessing in disguise, because at least he doesn't have to worry about Edward ever catching him in a walk of shame the next morning.

Jerome's been called away to attend some business when Edward finally gets the gall to question Oswald about it.

"Why do you stick to him like that?"

Oswald blinks, slowly chewing his cobb salad before setting down his fork. "Like what?"

"Like you're _glued_ to him."

Oswald shrugs, staring down at his half eaten lunch. "He's safe," he says, and pokes at his food. "He makes me feel safe."

" _Jerome Valeska_  makes you feel _safe_?" Edward repeats, incredulous.

"It's difficult to explain...."

Edward looks like he wants to say more, maybe ask a another question, but Jerome's return is Oswald’s saving grace.

Jerome slips back into his seat behind Oswald, wrapping a familiar arm around his waist and grinning at Edward over Oswald's shoulder. "Guard's in. He'll drug the other guard's coffee and _conveniently_ disappear to take a piss."

Oswald smiles gratefully, leaning back against Jerome's chest and taking up his fork once more. Edward gives him a curious look, but he doesn't say anything else.

 

* * *

 

Arkham has a new gardener who actually believes in his work. He takes great care of the courtyard and surrounding bushworks, and the place is looking much brighter. There are flowers growing up from brick planters and new strips of grass have been rolled out to replace a lot of the dirty gravel, leaving only enough for a looped trail around the yard. Most of the shriveled and dead plants (planted twigs really) that used to outline the courtyard have been dug up and replaced with new, stout green shrubs. It makes the outside look a little less like a prison and more like the mental health facility it was meant to be.

Of course, it's only the garden that's changed, the inside remains the same. The rest of Arkham is still dank and disheartening. It's still a prison.

Edward is walking the path with Oswald today, just the two of them. Jerome had made his opinion on _'pointless things like a flower garden'_ extremely clear and kept himself busied inside while the two of them went for a stroll. There's quite a few of the older patrons out today, marveling at the new foliage growing around them with expressions too awed by a few pretty petals to really be sane. They're all old, probably getting a bit senile, he suspects. In fact, Oswald and Edward seem to be the youngest inmates outside. Not that Oswald minds, he's always been more attuned with a more mature crowd anyway.

It's the older ladies that really get him--that remind him of his dearly departed mother in the best of ways.

"Oswald," Edward smiles, elbowing him lightly and pointing to a tiny flower bed beneath one of the windows, "look."

Oswald toddles over with a surprised gasp of breath. "White lilies..." he smiles, and quickly turns his head around to find that a stone bench has been placed in the path recently as well, within eyeshot of the lily bed even. "Ed, can we sit here for a moment?"

Ed's lip twitches up knowingly, "Of course, Oswald."

Edward lets Oswald take a seat first, needing the room to maneuver a little and account for his bad leg before there's a definite space for Ed to sit beside him. He smiles and settles in himself, giving Oswald a warm look as he watches the lilies blow gently in the breeze. "It's been a while since I just sat down somewhere just to look at nature," Oswald admits, "especially lilies."

"I was never really one for casual garden strolls." Edward comments, good-naturedly. 

"My mother always taught me to appreciate the beauty around us," he says in reply, still smiling at the long white petals as they sway. "She was the kind of woman to dance when there was no music."

Edward hums. "I wish I could have met her."

"...Me too," Oswald says after a moment. "I'm sure I've said that before... that she would have liked you."

"I liked her statue."

"It didn't do her justice." Oswald smirks, chuckling lightly, "You can't portray her kind of compassion or kindness through a block of cement."

Edward let his head rest back, looking up at the sky contently, "You know, anytime I hear that song I remember singing with you."

Oswald blinked curiously up at him. "Is it often?"

"Hardly, but when it does happen I feel... very sad."

"...It's the same for me," he admits slowly, nodding, "but it's that _stupid_ shade of green." He laughs when Ed looks insulted. "On anyone else it would look ghastly."

Edward's smile comes to life again, and Oswald feels lighter--warm. There's no tension between them in this moment, sitting among the courtyard garden and reminiscing about the good times they used to share. This serene feeling he gets from talking with Ed again reminds him of just how easy it was to fall in love with him in the first place…

With that bright and toothy smile curled up under his wide frames, shining in the sun's rays.

"This is nice," he offers, closing his eyes to really soak up the bit of sunlight poking through Gotham's ever present clouds. "I haven't come out to the courtyard in some time."

"Jerome doesn't ever go outside?"

Oswald decides not to question how Edward already knows that that's exactly why--because Jerome never went outside and Oswald only goes where Jerome goes--in favor of nodding his head. "Not his thing... I guess."

"You never came out here by yourself?"

Oswald shook his head quickly. "Not without him."

Edward frowns, peering cautiously over at Oswald as he asks, "Do you rely on him that much?"

"I trust him to keep me safe."

"That's not what I asked," Ed chides, but continues on anyway. "But you trust him?"

"To keep me safe." Oswald accentuates, "I don't know if I'd trust him in all of the areas of my life.... We don't talk about my mother for one thing. I know what he did to his, and I doubt that he'd ever be able to understand the love I have for mine... but I definitely trust him with my safety. I trust that he won't let me get hurt."

"Why?"

Oswald exhales, wondering how he could possibly explain without having to tell Ed about everything that had gone down in the last few months. He kicks out his good leg, foot scraping along the gravel and making a satisfying patch of exposed dirt as his shoe swept away all the little rocks. "Do you remember the night we celebrated my election?" Oswald asks.

"Of course. Butch tried to shoot you and then he nearly strangled me."

"Because you always got in the way..." Oswald smiled, chortling at Ed's bluntness. "You were always doing stupid things like that for me. You upstaged him at every turn and you were always looking out for me; you had nothing but my best interests at heart."

Edward's eyes widen fractionally as he stares at Oswald, and when he starts to look guilty, Oswald imagines that's the moment he's reminded of all the afterword. Their fights, betrayals, _Isabella_ , the way neither of them really wanted to push the other way, but felt they had to. Then when they were no longer friends at all, but enemies. 

"I owed you," Ed says.

Oswald scoffs, "No you didn't."

Ed looks confused and Oswald rolls his eyes pointedly, "First you saved me from dying out in the woods, nursed me to health and became my only real friend. I don't have _friends_ , Edward," he laughs bitterly. " _Then_ you helped me get _elected Mayor_... and we did it _honestly_. You wouldn't let me cheat because you believed in me. _Nobody believes in me_."

Edward has his eyes planted in the lilies when Oswald speaks again, and Oswald pushes on in his attempt to ignore that observation, "If anything, Ed, I owed _you_."

"You got me out of Arkham."

"Easiest string I've ever pulled," Oswald grins, and Edward blinks down at him, surprised. "That was nothing but a gesture of friendship, in return for your own."

"I..." Edward gawks, mouth opening and closing rapidly before he schools himself. He looks so confused. "What does that have to do with Jerome?"

"It's a lot like that," Oswald says, "He... did something rather significant to solidify my trust in him. Like how you took Butch's rage for me."

"What did he do?" Edward asks, and it's a question Oswald really should have expected, but it still knocks the breath out of him.

He fiddles with his thumbs and frowns down at the upturned patch of gravel before deciding to sweep it all back into place again. "I think I'm ready to go back inside, Ed."

Edward doesn't smile, and he sits there, silent for only a moment before he nods politely and stands, offering Oswald his hand. "Good idea," he says, and adds with unsubtle bitterness, "Jerome will probably be waiting for you."

Oswald inclines his head and takes the offered hand. Before they can walk away however, Edward stops him and makes a quick dart for the little flower box. He plucks a single lily from the batch and carefully cradles it to his chest before returning to Oswald's side. He holds it out gently by the stem, and Oswald has a moment where his breath catches, realizing he's never been offered a flower before and wondering why _that_ useless bit of trivia is suddenly something he's so fixated on before he gratefully reaches out to take it.

It's a meaningful thing between them, lilies--white especially. Oswald can't explain the tight coil it causes within his chest.

Edward smiles once, small but pleased, before turning and starting off towards the courtyard doors, slow enough that Oswald doesn't have to straggle along behind him. He spends the moments between their bench and the door trying to decipher just what Edward's floral gift was supposed to mean....

 

* * *

 

 It's early during the lunch period when Oswald notices Edward chatting with the person in front of his position in line. He looks to be accosting the other inmate, brows furrowed and lips downturned in a frown. There's a moment where his eyes widen though, and Oswald watches it curiously. His lips open and close helplessly and Edward's tray goes crashing to the floor. It's confusing to say the least, and Oswald wonders what they'd said to him to make him react that way.

He wants to know so _he_ can try it again later.

Once Edward has a new tray, fills it up and takes a seat across from them at their regular table, Oswald notices that Ed can't seem to meet his eyes. "Ed?" he asks cautiously, mindful of what had happened in line, "Is something the matter?"

He stabs at his food without and answer, and even Jerome seems a little intrigued, "What's eatin' you, Riddle Man?"

"...There was a serial rapist here not too long ago?" Edward asks, still glaring at his salad as he says it.

Oswald stiffens, startled and suddenly feeling just a little nauseous. He doesn't want Edward to know about this; he doesn't want to be made fun of or looked down on. He was _weak_ and-

"He cut out their eyes?"

Jerome's hand slips over Oswald's upper thigh, offering something close to a caress in an attempt to stifle his obvious nerves.

That's right. Jerome is there. He's safely tucked in Jerome's arms and nothing can hurt him here. He's safe. He's safe _here_. As long as he stays right here he can't be hurt.

Oswald tries to relax back against Jerome's chest, but it's a little forced. His eyes lower as he tries to let it go, to remember that he's alright--as long as he sticks to Jerome.

"Fucker's dead now," Jerome mutters spitefully, "who cares?"

Edward frowns, "...Did you kill him?"

He scowls, " _Cut his fucking dick off_."

Edward is watching Oswald with hawk-like eyes, worried and rough as he carefully starts to ask, "...Were you-?"

" _No_ ," Oswald says quickly, almost defensive, "Jerome... he- he..."

Understanding flickers across Edward's face as he looks between Oswald and Jerome with a new light, almost as if he could actually get it, could actually understand their weird connection to one another. _Oswald_ doesn't even totally get it and he's the other half of it. He wonders if all of Edward's snooping has been for this; figuring out whatever it is between him and Jerome. It feels like he's turning them into a puzzle, putting together the pieces until he gets the answer he's looking for, and Oswald isn't sure how he feels about it.

"Good," Edward says instead of anything else, Oswald can't hide how stunned he is.

Edward silently inclines his head towards Jerome and before Oswald can fully grasp what's happening Jerome snorts and dramatically returns the gesture with a flick of his hand and a slight, near mocking, bow. His smile isn't malicious though, Oswald notices. There's some sort of unspoken settlement between them, and it only serves to leave Oswald that much more confused.

Ed isn't mocking Oswald. He's not even really talking about it so much as asking out of concern. Oswald wants to ask more questions, wants to know what Edward really thinks about it, but he doesn't want to upset the fragile balance here, so they eat the rest of their meal in relative silence.

Oswald can wait it out.

 

* * *

 

Edward becomes strangely tender towards Oswald after that. It would be sweet, maybe even appreciated if it didn't just _irritate_ Oswald so much. He's not that fragile. Oswald doesn't need pity from Edward and he certainly doesn't need to be tiptoed around like he'll crack under any sort of pressure. He's lying in bed beside Jerome when he tells him about how it makes him feel. He wants to tell Edward to stop pitying him, that whatever he assumed happened--and let the record state, _it didn't_ \--he needs to just let it go and let Oswald be.

Jerome hesitantly chides him with a crude joke and reminds him that it's always good to have an extra ally in a place like Arkham. It's never a bad thing to have someone looking out for you. You never know when you'll need that extra hand and some added protection shouldn't ever be turned down, "-even from Riddle man."

"I don't _need_ another protector. I have y-" Oswald stops himself, but it's too late. Jerome is grinning at him with a mile wide smile when he finally looks up.

He leans over to kiss Oswald and Oswald lets him, not realizing just how much he missed this, the kissing and the tender touches, until he's had it again. The two of them hadn't really spent any time doing much of anything since Ed had arrived. Oswald had genuinely missed the intimacy.

They kissed and rutted against one another until Oswald came quickly undone, fisting the sleeves of Jerome's jumpsuit desperately as he climaxed. He watched through lidded eyes as Jerome finished himself off on Oswald's hip, that large grin still stretched wide across his face.

Jerome pulled him against his side afterword without a sound, reinstating the gentle form of intimate silence they had built up to over months of lying around post-orgasm, and Oswald felt comfortable in his skin once again. Regardless of the sticky mess between them….

There was something about being away from Jerome that just made him feel so vulnerable and weak; like he was in constant danger and always needed to be on high alert. When Jerome was there he was fine, he was safe. So he needed to stay by Jerome's side, to stay safe and happy, he needed to stay right here.

 

* * *

 

 Jerome is purposefully more handsy the next day at breakfast, and Oswald assumes it's because the night before had been almost like giving him a green light. His hands drift all over Oswald's chest as they eat, sometimes slipping down over his legs to give a light squeeze. At one point he goes so far as to cup Oswald through his jumpsuit and make him squeak.

Edward huffs, finally setting his spoon aside to sneer at Jerome, "You know, you don't _have_ to do that."

"Oh, but I _want_ to," Jerome quips with a devilishly cocky grin, tightening his hand around Oswald's waist just that much more in defiance.

"Isn't it embarrassing?" Edward asks Oswald, looking like he wholeheartedly expects Oswald to back him up.

Oswald blushes, but decides to shoot an unimpressed look back at Edward as he stabs a forkful of his omelette. If Jerome wants it, and Oswald doesn't really mind it as much as he should, he won't apologize for it. "To have someone enjoy touching me? Not really." He takes a bite of his food and then shyly adds, looking down at his tray, "It's kind of nice to be appreciated."

"By _groping_ ?"

"By _being openly wanted_ ," he shoots back bitterly, knowing it’s a low blow--that Edward probably does regret how he rejected Oswald--but unable to help himself.

Jerome is fucking preening, and Edward sulks.

 

* * *

 

Edward starts 'making friends' (as he calls it) with some of the other patients at Arkham. He's almost got a little clique formed within the first week of it and he uses them to get what he wants. Be it pride or just for stubbornness' sake, Edward has never asked Jerome for the same food privileges he and Oswald have. Sometimes he catches Ed eyeing something Oswald's got on his plate and he's occasionally willing to share, but any time he offers, Edward politely declines with a raise of his hand and a headshake.

It's probably pride, Oswald decides.

His new friends help him though, and eventually Edward figures out how to secure what he wants for himself without Jerome's help.

Oswald finds himself grinning one afternoon as he spies Edward convincing Helzinger (the large brute with a brain the size of a pea) to take his bland, mushy vegetables in exchange for an extra jello cup.

Jerome may snort at it, but Oswald is admittedly impressed to see how quickly he's gained the little following of 'friends' he has and how well he takes advantage of it. He's been able to subtly unriddle people based on what they like, need, or want and it's too impressive to downplay. Oswald would never have been able to do it. He's never been able to figure people out quite like Edward can. He can't predict their actions quite the same, and he wouldn't even bother trying to do it like Ed could.

"How did you do that?" he asks once Edward comes to join them, bland green beans gone and a shiny jello cup in place of it.

"Man's got a parental approval complex." Ed stated, "I told him that his mother would want him to be a big and strong boy-- but it would mean he needs to eat more vegetables."

"So you offered to trade your green beans for his jello?" Oswald asks, impressed.

Edward smirks, "He _begged_ me to give him my green beans and to take away his _unhealthy_ jello. So now, I have jello, I've gotten rid of my _frightfully_ _disgusting_ canned beans and gained a grateful favor from the man built like a brick house. Three birds, one stone."

Oswald is _undeniably_ impressed.

"That's amazing. How did you get your people to follow you?" Oswald asks Jerome curiously, realizing he'd honestly never wondered before.

"I killed a man my first day and threatened anyone who didn't swear their undying loyalty to me." he replies simply, and Oswald... is maybe just a little _less_ impressed.

"Oh."

Jerome frowns, opening an eye to look at him like Oswald has just personally offended him.

Edward grins from his seat across the table, smirking cockily at Jerome while the man huffs dejectedly and glares at his food.

 

* * *

 

 At the next meal, Jerome is called away by one of his many followers, this particular one being a thin and twitchy man with hair frizzed out in all directions. He whispers something into Jerome's ear and Jerome grins in reply. Oswald, able to pick up something about a package (the man's whispers weren't exactly soft), looks up at him curiously.

"That'll be the phone," he smiles, starting to rise from his seat.

He stops halfway though, leaning over to peck a quick kiss near Oswald's brow and giggling after he pulls away.

Edward watches the entire affair with a look of irritated puzzlement. He doesn't say anything though, and he's content to quietly work on his food until Jerome leaves.

"When did you start with the kissing?" Ed asks hesitantly, once Jerome is out of hearing range, "I noticed that you... thank him? that way."

"Long time ago," Oswald says in reply. "Sorry, if it might seem weird. I got so used to it, I guess I don't even think about it anymore."

Ed frowns, "But you don't _have_ to do it?"

Oswald pauses mid bite, chews the last of it with an excruciating slowness, then shrugs, "I suppose I don't."

"But you're still going to..."

Oswald already knows he'll always say yes, he'll always want to thank Jerome for what he does. "Yes, I probably will."

"Cell phone," Jerome calls as he re-enters the conversation, handing the phone to Oswald when he gets up to receive it.

Oswald smiles, gives a brief thanks, and calls Zsasz. It's a move done more on instinct than anything else, his right hand man is always the first he calls. He tells Victor only what's necessary-- _t_ _hat he'll be escaping with the help of Jerome and company of Edward, that they'll need a ride_ \--and ignores his many questions about just how Oswald has come to gain _either_ of their favors. Oswald trusts Zsasz to a certain extent, he's a good right hand man and an even better assassin, but they're not exactly companions. Victor certainly doesn't need to know any of the details here.

Oswald tells him not to worry, hangs up with a curt goodbye and when he returns, thanks Jerome like he knows best, with a chaste and grateful kiss to the cheek.

Jerome smirks at Edward afterword, slipping the phone away as Ed narrows his eyes in a silent challenge. Oswald has definitely picked up on the animosity between them lately, he'd be an idiot not to, but he doesn't let himself actually believe that their rivalry is all over him. After all, why would they be fighting over someone like Oswald?

If either of the boys notice Oswald's heavy sigh as he lifts his cup for a drink, they don't say anything.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, my timeline for this story is different and I wanted to put out a little clarification here for it. :) In _this_ version, poor Martin is only captured by Sofia the one time. She doesn't give him back immediately, Oswald doesn't 'blow him up' before going into Arkham, Zsasz doesn't betray him and Jim doesn't arrest him for that.  
>  He's arrested by Jim for the murder of Don Falcone and stays because Sofia still has Martin. 
> 
> We'll still do a car bomb, but it's going down differently. Got a little twist of my own here, we'll see how well it goes. ;)
> 
> I loved this chapter so much and for so many different reasons. Hopefully you do too! :)

When Oswald's cell door creaks open late into the night he's not that surprised to see Jerome stroll right in.

Things are in motion for their escape and Jerome tells him all about it with pride. Oswald is so thankful to have someone as insightful as Jerome helping them in this, able to put together the mad genius pieces that he and Edward couldn't. They'd pulled this plan together quickly; Jerome, Edward and Oswald's combined powers of planning and hindsight made for a truly terrifying force. They'd actually make a really great team if they were all capable of setting apart their differences for an extended period of time.

But something like  _that_ would take some real magic. 

The plan is to leave tomorrow (just after supper when everyone is happy and sated) and while Oswald is excited to be getting out of Arkham, to get back into the familiar grime of Gotham's underworld and to get Martin back safely, he can't help but feel a little regret. He already knows that he'll miss Jerome. 

Jerome looks... decidedly _off_   to Oswald as he finishes summing up the whole of the scheme. Oswald frowns at him, extending his arm to offer up a seat to Jerome with a concerned, "What's wrong?" 

Jerome looks surprised by the question, and maybe it's just that no one ever asked him that before, but he's hesitant. He takes the invitation after a pause and sits himself down of the edge of Oswald's bed with a sigh, "Ya know... I think I'm gonna miss you, bird brain." he finally huffs out.

Oswald is flattered, really. He figured he'd be the only one to regret their parting, but it looks like Jerome will too. He sets himself down beside him cautiously and lets his hand slip over the top of Jerome's, "I'm really thankful for all you've done for me, Jerome," he says, "All you're _still_ doing for me. When you find what you're looking for in here and you escape for yourself... let me repay you somehow."

Jerome huffs out a half hearted chuckle, " _That's_ not why I did it, Ozzie, baby," he shakes his head once, laughs again, then adds, "but I'll keep that in mind." 

Oswald squeezes his hand and Jerome lets a hearty chortle slip from his mouth before leaning over to kiss him in reply. 

It starts out slow enough, Jerome only pressing his lips against Oswald's, but then Oswald sighs, tipping forward and into it, and Jerome suddenly has his hands on either side of his face. Their soft touching quickly escalates to nips on his bottom lip, a tongue flickering over his teeth and Jerome pushing him down onto the mattress with a low groan in his throat. 

He's rough, quick to rid Oswald of his pants and crawl between his naked and splayed legs, jarring his bad one on accident, but Oswald doesn't mind the pain. Who knows when he'll see Jerome again? A little pain seems trivial. Oswald wraps his arms around Jerome's neck and tries to push that thought away-- _that he's leaving Jerome_ \--choosing instead to revel in the  _safety_ of Jerome's arms while he still can.

Safe, only here.

Oswald moans when Jerome wraps a hand around him, slipping two fingers inside in quick accompaniment. It's nothing new, they've done this dance plenty of times before, but when Jerome pulls himself out to jerk off, Oswald takes a leap and changes the song. He carefully slips his hand over Jerome's, cautious and new. It's not quite the same as actually touching him, but it's more than Oswald has ever done before. If Jerome's appreciative groan is anything to go by, he certainly doesn't mind. In fact he makes a play in return and switches the tempo of the dance altogether, slipping his own hand out from underneath Oswald's before re-wrapping it around the top. 

And Oswald can suddenly _feel_ the heat of it... 

He's never touched Jerome like this before, and he finds himself curious as he experiments with different movements, Jerome's excited noises above him spurring him on. He's thick and warm in his hand. The sounds he makes are amazing, and Oswald isn't sure why he hasn't done this before.

Jerome moans low in his throat, shoves his fingers back into Oswald with a hard thrust and has Oswald twisting, writhing in ecstacy and then cumming in a short burst of time. He must be a real sight; lazy, post-orgasm eyes, a little sexed out and panting beneath him... because Jerome stares at Oswald with awe as he gets close to the end himself, leaning forward with a rumble and biting roughly on the lobe of Oswald's ear.

"If that green goon makes you cry _,_ " Jerome starts, cut off with a grunt as Oswald twists his hand, " _you tell me_. I'll kill em' myself."

Oswald chuckles breathlessly against him, but on the inside he feels a little like crying. His relationship with Ed is such a sensitive subject; having his heart broken like that still holds such a weight over Oswald and he never quite figured out how to get past it. He still loves Ed on some level, but Jerome... Jerome actually cares about him.

He hadn't realized it earlier, or if he had then the idea had just been _so ludicrous_ that he hadn't accepted it, but in his own way, Jerome genuinely worries for Oswald. _Nobody_ worries for Oswald. It feels sort of surreal to acknowledge that Jerome really does care about him. This strange thing between them is no longer an issue of entertainment. Looking back on their time together he really should have seen it happening, should have noticed the change sooner. At what point did the teasing touches become more meaningful? Why hadn't he paid attention?

Jerome cums over his hand with a hiss and fondly mutters out one of his many nicknames against Oswald's neck.

When he's done he plants another kiss on his lips and topples over onto the bed beside him. He pulls Oswald against his side and hums contently, eyes shut and head aimed towards the heavens. 

Oswald appreciates Jerome so much. There will probably never be a time that he doesn't. To have someone care about him is something he doesn't take lightly. Ed used to care, once upon a time, but he's not sure where they stand anymore. Edward might have promised to try and forgive him, but that doesn't necessarily mean much. 

Jerome is still here, holding Oswald against him with a charming and sedated grin, simply because he wants to be. 

Jerome _wants_ to be here with him. 

The man in question nudges Oswald over when he sighs, and gives Oswald a meaningful look before pressing him into the mattress and biting a couple hickeys into his neck. When he pulls back, he seems all too satisfied with his work, grinning like the cat that ate the canary as his eyes roam over the fresh marks. Jerome runs his fingers over the reddening skin and his smile shines with a possessive glint that has Oswald shivering in reply. He's been marked again, probably to deter Ed, but Oswald still doesn't get it. 

"You don't have to do that, you know..." he finally says, but takes the touch like it's a drug. 

Just one more hit and he'll be satisfied...

Just one more...

Jerome snorts, "Just marking my territory." 

"I'm not a tree to be peed on." he huffs in reply. 

"No." Jerome agrees with an uncharacteristically soft smile, "No, you're not." 

 

* * *

 

Edward notices the bite marks on his neck as they're leaving supper. It's in the midst of their plan for escape, too much going on around them to really ask questions, but the eyes boring into him whenever he's near Ed are almost just as bad, if not twice as distracting. 

Jerome has keys to their cells, tells them to sneak out and meet him in the front hall. Honestly it's all insanely simple, and they're gonna waltz right through the front door if everything goes according to plan. 

He leads the way to the security box, two men out cold against the controls and the grated door into the booth left unlocked. It's almost too easy. 

"It's amazing what a few hundred bucks worth a bribes can do. Drugs in the coffee." Jerome snorts, "Don't they know caffine's bad for ya?" 

It's _so easy_. Oswald is going to try and remember to bribe the hell out of everyone if he ever ends up in Arkham again. They're gonna stroll out of Arkham like they own the place, and Oswald just can't believe it. Jerome could leave at any time.

"You could come with us." Oswald says before they go, deciding to offer even though he knows Jerome won't accept. "We can all walk right out of here."

Jerome grins and shakes his head with a raised hand, "Creme de la crazy, Ozzie baby. I've got the fix to get out some other time." 

"But you could-"

"You'd better get goin'." he interrupts quickly, "They'll be up and at it in just a few minutes. Not a lotta time." 

Jerome doesn't wait for Oswald's reply, turning to leave before he's got the chance to utter a word. Oswald watches him go with the biggest feeling of regret hanging over his shoulders like weights, wanting to convince him to come with them, to screw whatever plan he's got up his sleeve and just stick with Oswald.. _. to continue keeping Oswald safe_... but he can't.

Jerome only makes it about five steps away before he stops, shoulders hunched and muttering angrily under his breath. Oswald watches his head shake, the angry grumbling growing louder and his fingers curling into fists at his sides. 

" _Damn_." he scowls, "Oz!" and whips around so quickly that even Ed almost jumps.

Jerome strides toward them with purpose, those original five steps shrinking to three large ones, and grabs Oswald's face with both hands. He pulls them together and kisses him. It's fierce, vehement but tender even with his force. They sway for a moment, Oswald desperately hanging onto Jerome by his sleeves, knees going weak as he's swept away with what could probably be the most passionate kiss ever written in any story book, and any doubts he had earlier about Jerome's feelings towards him are swept away with him.

It's a clear goodbye, he knows it, and Oswald allows himself to respond in kind as he acknowledges that this is it. Jerome is giving him a farewell. He's gonna miss the crazy bastard, likely the last time they see each other for a long while. If ever. 

They might both be villains of Gotham, but they definitely run in different circles of crazy. 

Jerome pulls back with a grin, pressing his forehead against Oswald's and laughing, "Looks like you _reeeeally_ got in my head, bird brain."

The shout of an alert guard breaks them apart. Jerome shoves Oswald back toward Ed by his shoulders and orders them to get a move on. Edward practically drags Oswald away by the arm as Jerome grabs the sleeping guard's gun and starts shooting. His laughter echoes through the hall as he and Ed race towards the door. 

The place is going into lockdown. There are sirens blaring as they make it outside, and the sounds of gunshots are only muted once the door behind them closes. A man tries to stop them before they reach the gate but Ed grabs him by the head and knees him in the face before he can lift his weapon. When he falls, grumbling and about to try and stand again, Oswald gives him a swift kick to the gut. 

Zsasz is waiting for them on the other side of the large gates, a sporty little black car revving at them in an order to get in. 

They climb in and Edward gives out a delighted laugh as they put as much distance between them and Arkham as they can. Oswald doesn't look back as they go.

 

* * *

 

He does after they're home free. Oswald finds himself  _always_ looking back once he's back in the real world.

Oswald is a little jumpy during the first few days. He finds himself constantly checking over his shoulder for fear of danger--maybe capture. Any second they're going to find him and drop him right back in Arkham. Maybe somewhere worse. 

He strikes a deal with Jim Gordon, as returning father of the underworld, that if he ignores both his and Ed's escape from Arkham, Oswald will keep him in the loop and even let him snag a few drug dealers now and then. Jim's ready to disagree, Oswald can see the moment his fingers twitch that he wants to reach for his handcuffs. So Oswald mentions the rapist in Arkham, bits and pieces of what he went through, how he was only in Arkham again _because of Jim_. Jim, and Sofia's blatant lies about how he'd killed Don Falcone.

_He hadn't, obviously._

Jim still hesitates, shaking his head and about to open his mouth before Oswald sweetens the deal with some other triviality he can afford to lose. He's piled on a tall platter, but Jim still doesn't seem ready to bite. He makes a few fleeting promises and tacks a few harsh words on the end just for old times sake. 

When Jim _still_ isn't completely on board, Oswald finally gives up and mentions Martin. 

Jim does give a real pause as Oswald tells him all about it. He can't go back to Arkham, not just yet at least. He has to do this first, has to get his boy back and take down Sofia Falcone, then Jim can come after him--or he can try, Oswald doesn't plan to make it easy for him.

The detective finally caves, and it's publicly announced the next day (with surprisingly minimal outrage) that Edward Nygma and Oswald Cobblepot have been cleared of their charges. Oswald is sure that Jim will find something to pin them with later, but for now, they're both off the hook. 

Gordon's announcement is followed up with a statement about Jerome Valeska's involvement with the Arkham breakout, and that in light of this, new security measures have been set into place to ensure it won't happen again. There's a vetting process for new hires and there's going to be a total staff rehaul. Oswald wonders if helping him and Ed escape ruined everything that Jerome had going for him in there... would he still be able to escape in the future like he planned? He tries not to dwell on it for too long, and instead pours himself into his plans for Sofia Falcone.

 

* * *

 

The set up for Martin's retrieval is frustratingly complicated and Oswald wants nothing more than to just burst into whatever rundown, backwater base Sofia has him captive, guns blazing, and be done with it. It would save the countless hours of preparation and these restless nights of going over it  _just one more time_. They can't afford to mess this up. So Oswald has reviewed, revised and reworked the entire thing at least twice.

Martin's life is at stake, and theirs could be too if they play their cards wrong. Sofia Falcone is a manipulative, violent bitch underneath her kind and cheery outward persona. Not to be underestimated. Not to be contained. Certainly not to be undone by something haphazard or half-assed. 

It surprises Oswald how supportive Ed is throughout the entire process. Ed doesn't even know Martin, but he's there, more than willing to help and even volunteering to act as the voice in Oswald's stead. 

It's decided that Oswald can't be present, or at least he can't _appear_ to be, to show just how indifferent he is to Martin's capture. Sofia can't know just how much of Oswald's heart the boy really holds if there's any chance to keeping Martin out of danger in the future. His absence will really just be for show, Oswald _will_ be watching. Be it from the inside of the car, on a monitor or some obscure rooftop, Oswald is going to be watching. He is going to see this through himself and make sure it all goes down without a hitch. Martin is important enough to warrant at least that much. 

They agree to meet in a neutral location. Oswald's side had two cars, Sofia's has three. _Of course._

Sofia was always the sort to one-up her opponent. 

Oswald is seated in the second car, the one not sporting his mayoral license plate (that he knows Sofia will recognize). He's in the car that two of his goons climb out of once they've parked. It looks like nothing more than a backup vehicle, just for transporting the hench people. The other consists of Ed, taking up a window seat in the back, Zsasz behind the wheel, and of course... the boy-sized hole through the bottom that Martin is meant to escape out of. 

The others climb out, but Oswald stays right where he is, audio coming through the little microphone attached to the pin on Edward's breast pocket. 

It almost feels like a tragedy, having Martin so close but still so out of reach... Even back in the car, looking through the tinted windows Oswald can see how scared he looks. He'd love nothing more than to run over to him, wrap him up in his arms and never let him out of his sight again.

Ed plays his part well, stating simply that he's there acting on Oswald's behalf-- _that Oswald was too busy with more important things to come._

Sofia starts to fray a little around the edges, "What do you mean he's _too busy_ ?"

"Simple as that." Edward grins, and clasps his hands together in front of him like the gentleman that he is, "There were more important matters at stake." 

"More important than this boy's _life?_ " She scoffs, and presses the barrel of her gun just a little closer to Martin's head. 

Oswald will kill her for it later, have no doubt.

"If you hand over the boy he'll still meet your demands, with an amendment or two."

Sofia's lips harden into a thin line. She's annoyed, good. _But don't push it too far, Ed._

"Part of my demands were to make this trade with _him_." She bristles.

"And I am acting on his behalf."

Sofia huffs, "Why are you even on his payroll again? I thought you too went through that whole- breakup of the century thing." She smirks, "What, was the makeup sex _just that good_?"

Ed doesn't give anything away, but he smiles, the same smile he would wear before putting on his shows, and tipped his head to the side snidely, "Like you wouldn't believe."

Oswald snorts from his seat in the car, knowing Ed would have loved to say something more graphic, really piss her off, but he's being mindful of Martin. Still standing between them, Martin looks up at Ed with a curious expression. Oswald had no doubt if he had the use of his notepad he'd have been writing a hundred questions for him, he might have to figure out a way for Martin to communicate faster once this is over. Maybe a tablet of some form instead of the notepad.

"If I'm supposed to believe he's really willing to give up his control to me then why isn't he _here_ ? If Martin isn't important then why is he still willing to trade?"

"You don't want your underworld falling to pieces before it even comes into your hands, do you?" Edward tuts in reply, still smiling. "Though, you're right. He might not exactly be worth the whole of Gotham's underworld. Mr. Cobblepot said he would offer you half."

" _Half?_ " Sofia scoffed, "You're kidding." 

"Half only because he'd prefer not to see the boy dead." Edward explains, "But if that's not enough, you're more than welcome to go about your business. Mr. Cobblepot will go about his." 

Sofia's eyes widened and her mouth open and shut with disbelief, "He'd just let me kill him?" 

_No. He would not._

But Sofia didn't need to know that. 

She scowls, searches Edward's face for any sign of a bluff, but whatever she finds leaves her looking defeated, and she nods, "Fine. Half of Gotham's underworld dealings. I choose which though."

Edward's cool expression doesn't relay the real amount of relief he feels, "Agreeable."

Sofia clicks her tongue and leans forward to whisper into Martin's ear before standing upright again, tall and confident, maybe just a little like her father, "I'll take control of the rest one way or another, you can tell Penguin that. I won't be satisfied with only half of a crown for very long."

The boy comes running right for his car, and for a moment Oswald panics, thinking maybe Martin will jump into the wrong car and the jig will be up.

"Other one, Martin," Ed calls to him, and Martin stops to nod carefully before veering off.

Oswald breathes easy again.

There's a little more banter between them now, and it _does_ get graphic now that Martin is safely out of ear's reach. Ed promises that she'll go down, that she won't have control of Gotham's hotdog stands let alone half of the underworld, that Oswald is too strong to let his heart control him anymore, and then he clicks a button where she can plainly see it.

The car blows up, and Oswald prays Ed stalled enough for Martin to climb all the way down to safety. 

Her reaction, the reactions of the other sirens, _everyone's_ are even better than he'd hoped for.

Zsasz starts the shooting, ebbing them back and into their cars while Ed returns to the second car and climbs in. The shooting doesn't stop until they've all driven off, and it's not until his gun is empty that Zsasz finally lowers his arms from their branching hold. He struts over to the second manhole, where the one Martin climbed into would lead out to, and Oswald has never been more excited to see a child covered in grime from Gotham sewers.

His smile is nervous underneath the dirt of the sewers, but it's still a smile, and that means victory. Martin is safe. Zsasz takes him somewhere safe to lay low, and Ed and Oswald return to their planning.

 

* * *

 

Apparently Ed still has his hand in a few pies. He still owns his old apartment, where Oswald remembered waking up in a cold sweat after Ed came across him in the woods, and that's where they hide out while pieces fall into place for Sofia's demise.

Oswald feels like this is a stupid idea, staying in Ed's old apartment, but Ed points out that no one would think to look here, that Sofia didn't even know this was where he used to live and that the landlord owes him a favor. A couple favors, in fact. They're safe and everything is just fine.

They might be safe... but Oswald doesn't remember the last time he felt secure enough to order Chinese take out right to the door.

It feels like it's been years since the last time he felt this casual around Ed and it makes him a little bit giddy.

And nervous.

Nervously giddy.

They're sat across from one another, eating from little white boxes with snap-off chopsticks in Ed's apartment just like they had so long ago, when Ed says, out of nowhere, "You heard anything from Jerome?"

Oswald blinks, _definitely_ not having expected to be talking about Jerome of all people right now. "No, I haven't."

Ed nods, "You could visit him?" he suggests, not looking up from the box in his hands.

"Not a good idea. Gordon's intervention aside, I doubt Arkham would really let me come and go in there as I pleased.... Besides that, we'd have nothing to 'visit' about," he huffs. "Whatever it is that you're thinking Ed, stop it. There's no point to it."

There's a small moment of quiet between them as Oswald takes another bite of his food, pointedly ignoring that Ed isn't eating his.

"...Do you love him?" Ed blurts out before he can stop himself.

Oswald is shocked silent again, and a little bit of noodle is stuck at the corner of his mouth. He's not sure if it's jealousy talking or just Ed's natural curiosity, but a small light of hope begins to bloom in Oswald's chest. Oswald angrily shoves it down. "He's... my friend," he offers, "I... very much enjoyed my time with him. We bonded over some pretty bad stuff that happened there." Oswald pauses, looking down at his food, "but I don't think it will ever quite be like.... Well, like it was before."

"You mean when you loved me?"

 _Jesus Ed._ Oswald wants to reach across the table and knock him around a little--just to see if his head is still screwed on right. Maybe Ed's just messing with him, he's played with Oswald's feelings before and it's not that far of a stretch. He's always been a bit of a manipulator. He's not sure how Ed expects him to reply, but he decides to go with the truth.

"Yes," he murmurs, ducking his head so he doesn't have to look at whatever upset face Ed is going to make next, "like when I had feelings for you."

There's still a bitter history between them. Escaping together means nothing ultimately, and even sitting here now, eating Chinese and chatting like this means little more than that.

For a few moments, Oswald manages to keep his eyes trained on his box of noodles. He stabs at his shrimp a couple times with his chopsticks before he can work up enough courage to lift his head. To his credit, Ed's jaw hasn't _quite_ hit the table yet, but it's a near thing.

"Do you... still love me?" Ed asks, breathy and light, like he doesn't even really mean to ask, he just can't help it.

"I... " Oswald starts hesitantly. There are definitely still feelings there, he'll probably never be able to _completely_ get over Edward, but he can sure as hell try. He's been burnt before and he'll be damned if he lets it happen again even if Ed is suddenly seeming more on board with the idea. He doesn't owe Ed the answer. Oswald shakes himself out of it, jostling his head from side to side as he returns to stabbing at his Chinese. "I'm trying not to think about it."

Ed's adam's apple bobs when he swallows. "And Jerome?"

"I don't know." Oswald huffs with a curt and mirthless laugh, realizing the absurdity of this conversation. "What happened in Arkham... it's different. Our relationship was different. I'll always consider him a good friend but-"

Ed scoffs across the table. " _Friends_ don't kiss like that, Oswald." he says with some flare of finality, "I'm pretty sure you're not just a 'friend' to him."

"...Maybe not," he admits, and continues to poke at his food, "but does it really matter right now? Who knows when we'll see him again."

Oswald waits to see the soft smile come over Ed's face, corners of his mouth upturned just so as he speaks, "I guess it doesn't."

"Good." Oswald nods before tutting towards the little pile of onions Ed has sitting on a lid. "Don't pick out the onions. Eat them too."

"Yes mother," Ed taunts, smiling as he puts one of the onion bits he'd taken out back into his box obediently.

Oswald sticks out his tongue and all of a sudden they're back to those first few months together when Oswald was running for mayor; easy, free, and fun. They talk a little bit about what Ed had been up to while Oswald was in Arkham. He listens excitedly to Edward's heist stories, laughing at some of his antics and scoffing at his bloated ego. Oswald wants to ask him to play some music so they can sing together again. He wants to ask if everything is going to be alright between them. Wants to know whether or not Ed feels the same way about him as he does about Edward.

In the end, he can't bring himself to ask for any of it, so he stabs a shrimp with one of his chopsticks and grins when Ed chides him for his improper use.

 

* * *

 

When Sofia Falcone finally goes down, Oswald doesn't feel the moment of finality and resolve that he'd been expecting. He doesn't get to pull the trigger himself and that eats at him. _Lee_ fucking _Thompkins_ had done it, if you could believe it. It doesn't feel at all like _he_ finished it.

But it's still done, Sofia is dead and all this scurrying around is over with. He can feel at ease again.

...but for some reason he doesn't.

There's still something nagging at him, still making him poke his head around corners before he steps around them, still making him look over his shoulder.

But those feelings fall far far away for a blissful moment when they finally go to collect Martin.

He's smiling at Oswald as he climbs out of the car, Zsasz close behind, bald head shining almost as brightly as Martin's little grin. 

Oswald falls to his knees to wrap him up in a tight embrace, not even caring about the pain of the fall. His leg sings with injury and he's definitely going to pay for it later, but he can't bring himself to care just now. He laughs, smooths down the tousled fringe in Martin's hair and kisses the top of his head.

"Hello again," he says, grinning like a madman and tearing just a _little_ bit, and Oswald finds himself blissfully unaware of the people around them, watching.

Martin's small arms wrap around him in reply and he buries his face in the fur lining of Oswald's coat. Oswald has his boy back. All the hesitation he'd felt in Arkham, wondering if he was really ready for something like _parenthood_  simply melts away under Martin's hug. Oswald knows that this boy has become the most important person in his world without his knowledge, but he can't bring himself to care. Whatever weird feelings he's going through with Edward and Jerome are back burner to this. _This_ is what's really important. He will dedicate his everything to this boy. It's too late to turn back now, and Martin will probably always take priority in his life decisions from here on out, but Oswald is glad for it, come what may.

Ed is smiling at the two of them with something that looks incredibly genuine when he turns to look at and thank him. Martin grins at Ed and holds Oswald's hand as they make their way back to Oswald's new stretch.

Martin spends the entire ride home excitedly scribbling out questions and answering the ones that Oswald has for him.

When Martin holds up his pad, a neatly printed **[I knew you would come for me]** written on the current page, Oswald has to try really hard not to cry before he can reply, "I will _always_ come for you, Martin. I promise."

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOSH THIS CHAPTER DID SO MUCH FOR MY FLUFF-NEEDING SOUL. I am excited to be sharing my little insight on things I wish would have been talked about/expanded on in the show. (Won't mention it here just because I don't want to spoil what you're literally about to read in two seconds) 
> 
> Your comments are everything, I'm so happy with all of the support this story is getting, thank you. I love going back-and-forth with everyone in comments about what you like/dislike and your own ideas on things. I live for that! So please, talk with me about what you're thinking! I love to hear it! :)

Oswald finally has his father's manor back, but it's in terrible need of restoration. Ed lets him and Martin stay with him in his apartment for a few days while the crew Oswald has hired to renovate finishes up the final touches. Martin's curiosity as he wanders around the place for the first time is adorable, and he points to each odd piece of furniture (Like rusty 10 foot tall arrows or the bunsen burner and large beaker that take the place of an actual coffee maker) until Edward softly smiles and tells him about them.

Oswald is actually a little curious himself as Ed goes on about the history of the arrow. He'd found it in an old antique shop with his mother one week while out of Gotham on a road trip. His mother had seen it light up after Edward walked beneath the point and immediately purchased it. When he'd asked her why, she'd smiled at him and told him he was a natural born star, that the arrow just proved it. She bought the arrow to remind him of that fact.

She'd thought he might go into the arts when he grew up, even though he'd told her time after time he was interested in science and anatomy.

"Is that why you like to make a show out of everything?" Oswald snorted, taking a seat on the edge of Edward's bed while he and Martin looked at the arrow. It was almost twice the size of Martin.

Edward grinned, "Mothers do always know best, don't they?"

Oswald gave him a quiet smile, and relaxed as they continued on the little history tour of 'the life of Ed Nygma'. Martin was an eager customer, for sure. He eagerly swallowed up every little tidbit Edward fed him, sometimes scribbling out questions, other times quietly asking with his eyes if he could touch things. It was almost as if he were in an actual museum.

Oswald resolved to take him to one soon.

A zoo sometime as well... to see the penguins, of course.

When it came time to put Martin to sleep, Ed politely offered the two of them the bed. But Oswald insisted that Ed be the one to take it, it was his home after all, he should sleep in his own space. Eventually it was Martin that offered up the compromise, holding his little notepad high enough that both of them could see his neatly printed,  **[We could all share?]**

Both he and Edward fall silent.

Either Martin has caught onto things far quicker than Oswald expected or Martin is just a little gift sent up from hell to throw a wrench in the workings of his life... but Oswald refuses to think of Martin as anything even  _remotely_ hellish, so option one it was.

"I... uhm, well..." he flubberers out, looks over at Ed for some kind of help.

He certainly doesn't want to be the one to tell his boy that they can't sleep in the same bed with Edward because  _"We have a history; I told him I loved him and he shot me"._

Edward only flounders back in the same fish-like form of dumbfoundedness.  _Genius, indeed,_ Oswald huffs to himself.

Martin's little hands write quickly,  **[That's okay, right Uncle Ed?]**

_Uncle Ed. Jesus._

Oswald turns to him, expecting some sort of ghast at the nickname, but Edward surprises him, looks completely taken in, and Oswald can't believe it.

"I suppose... it would be fine." he says, shooting Oswald an apologetic shrug and a look that relayed just how wrapped around Martin's little finger he really was. "It  _is_ big enough."

_Oh, what a sap. Of course Martin would be the one to finally get at Edward's heartstrings._

Not that Oswald could blame him. He was just as bad, if not far worse.

Oswald tips his chin up, pulling the bottom hem of his suit jacket down and nodding. "Well I guess that's better than letting you sleep on your  _horrible_ couch."

Ed frowns, "What's wrong with my couch?"

"I lived here for a time, Ed, if you'll remember. That has to be  _the_ most uncomfortable piece of furniture I've ever had the misfortune of using." he scoffs, then smirks, "And I was once tied to a chair that broke simply because of its poor craftsmanship. Sleeping on  _that_ old thing would be worse than all of the splinters I had that day."

Martin's grin was wide, Ed's just as warm if not a little uneasy, and they came to their agreement.

Martin and Oswald dress down while Ed busies himself in the tiny studio restroom. Oswald once again tries to insist that Ed properly use his own space, but Edward argues that his cramped little bathroom is far too small for both of them to comfortably maneuver about and he really doesn't mind.

Oswald hasn't quite had the time to secure himself nightclothes, or Martin anything new at all for that matter, so they both make use of Ed's.

Two night shirts are the only suitable things that they find, and even those are honestly far too big for either of them. While Oswald only has to suffer a little extra length here and there, the fabric only long enough on him to droop a little past his mid thigh, poor Martin's sleeves go almost down to his ankles. Oswald is leaning over to help roll one up when Edward comes out again. He smiles when he sees them, eyebrow lifting and a hand raising over his lips to try and stifle his upcoming chuckle.

"A little big?" he asks, all too knowingly.

"You're _lanky_ and at least a foot taller than me, Ed." Oswald says, short but not unfondly, "Martin didn't stand a chance."

Ed does chuckle then, coming down to kneel on Martin's other side and help with the second sleeve. "Sorry for laughing, but this just feels oddly  _domestic,_ and I never thought of  _you_ as someone who would wind up domestic, Oswald. It's... surprisingly cute."

He smiles, small and private, a little red in his cheeks that he tries to hide by not looking at Ed, "Yes, well, Martin is a special case."

The boy grins, proud, and the sleeves are finally rolled up past his wrists, but on the shirt they're nearly up to the shoulder line. Oswald can't help but agree that it does feel domestic, and he finds the entire situation... somewhat cutesy. For lack of a better word. They're both wearing Edward's shirts, like they're a part of his little family. If he were a suburban mother, this would be the moment to whip out his phone and snap a picture for his blog.

He would caption the picture of Martin in his oversized sleeves, Ed beside him, wearing another of the shirts like it was actually meant to be worn, "Like father like son."

Oswald jerks himself out of  _that_ vastly unhelpful thought quickly, and instructs Martin to take care of his teeth before the boy tried to make a dash for the bed. As if Oswald wouldn't notice.

Edward chortles at him as Martin goes.

"What's so funny?"

He shrugs, still grinning, "Just... you,  _fatherdom_. It's oddly suited to you, in a way."

Oswald blinks, a little unsure of what to say, and settles for an incline of his head, "Thank you." his eyebrows skew, "I think."

Ed laughs and touches a hand to his shoulder, "It was a compliment."

Oswald smiles.

They settle into the large bed with Martin wedged in between them, something Oswald had hoped would keep him from staring at Edward all night, but his small frame puts the top of his head just below their chins and his brown locks aren't enough to hide behind. As Oswald peeks over the amber curls of Martin's hair, he spies Ed looking right back at him. He shoots Oswald a small, almost shy smile before his eyes shut and then it's only Oswald being creepy and still staring. He can't help it. Oswald doesn't remember the last time he saw Ed looking so... peaceful...

He looks different without the glasses. Softer almost. His brow holds a different posture when it's not contemplating some new nefarious plan with those speckled frames. Oswald can't help but stare a little longer. He doesn't actually know if he's  _ever_ seen Ed like this before... let alone able to remember it. Even while they were chummy and working together as Mayor and Chief of Staff, Edward always held a sort of stiff and overworked posture, no matter how much time off Oswald had given him. He never looked this lax... even after he met the librarian.

Oswald was reminded again of Isabelle. Isabell _a_. Her name was Isabella. Oswald wouldn't forget that anymore.

He frowns, glaring into the little curls on Martin's head before he finally softened again. He still believed that Edward could never have had anything real with her, Ed would probably have done away with her himself in the end, but Oswald did, on some level, regret killing Isabella. He'd taken happiness away from the man he loved instead of trying to support him. Oswald had made so many mistakes after realizing his crush on Edward. He'd gone about everything ass backwards and full of selfish motivation. He'd learned for the experience, certainly, but he still regretted it.

Oswald wasn't sure he'd ever actually apologized...

"Ed." he whispers, and his shoulders lose a little of their tension as he sees Edward's eye pop open.

"What is it Oswald?"

He blinks, the words suddenly clogged in his throat, unable to force them out like he wanted to. He loosens his lips once, trying to talk, just to tighten them shut again immediately after.  _This was going to be harder than he thought_. "I..." he croaked, and looked down at the top of Martin's head one more time before steeling himself.

"Edward, I'm... sorry about what I did. To Isabella."

The silence between them grows thick and dark.

Edward stares at him, eyes a little wider than before, and Oswald is too scared to look away. They stay like that for a while, unmoving, apprehensive of each other, as Edward seems to digest what Oswald has just said.

Finally his lips part, and Oswald almost can't breathe.

"...Thank you, Oswald." Edward finally says, cautious and light, like if he made a wrong move he might startle Oswald back into his shell, " _Thank you._ "

Oswald finally lets his chest deflate, and smiles at Edward, who offers him a small grin in return. Oswald lets go of where he's been fisting Martin's night shirt unawares, and finally relaxes enough to go to sleep, Edward dutifully watching over both him and Martin from the other side of the pillows.

The mansion takes almost another week to finish.

Oswald doesn't rush them at all.

 

* * *

 

The rooms are outfitted for himself, Martin... and Ed. Surprisingly enough. It had been a last minute addition to the original designs, fixing up a room especially for Edward, and Oswald still wasn't sure how he felt about it.

Oswald hadn't intended it to have Edward stay long, thinking Edward would be ready to move on to other things. However, when they'd taken the first steps up the cobblestone walk, Martin's hand firmly grasping both his and Edward's on the other side, Oswald wasn't ready to split him from Martin. At first he'd merely wanted to thank him, invite him to stay while he found himself somewhere new to go. The apartment was meant to be a fail safe, where he could fall back when he was in hiding, but Edward wasn't going to live there again. There were too many memories tucked away in the walls, beneath the peeling paper and in between the cracks.

"Stay a while." he'd said, and didn't know that he was saying  _stay forever._

Martin has no problem with it in the least.

He and Edward grow very close very quick, and the two of them are companions before Oswald completely realizes what's happening. Edward tutors him sometimes, helps him with his homework and puts him well ahead of the class when he starts attending regular school again. Martin is a terribly bright boy, and Oswald enjoys seeing Ed bond with him over it.

It makes his chest tingle with a warmth he doesn't care to investigate or unpack. Oswald is content to just be happy with how his life is proceeding and to not worry.

While Edward's relationship with Martin blossoms early and fast, it takes longer for Oswald to warm back up to him. There's still a lot of hurt and reminders of the past in the things around them, and it's easy to stumble across something that negatively affects one or both of them.

Oswald finds himself no longer willing to take care of any business by the docks.

Edward can't look at an ice bucket without cringing, and it makes Oswald feel a little sick to his stomach to see it.

Neither of them are willing to bring Martin to the Gotham City library, even though the new librarian is a kind, older woman. At least Oswald doesn't have to worry about that. Oswald instead buys Martin whatever books he needs and his departed father's study doesn't already have, has them delivered by mail.

It takes time, neither of them expects for the scars to heal over right away so they're careful of each other, but both understand that there will come a day when it becomes easier.

Today Martin has called both Edward and Oswald into the study, a little poster board propped up on the desk with the two of them sitting in view.

His real and only true troubles in school are his solo project presentations. In a group or a pair Martin can help with most of the work and have his partner give the oral speech that accompanies. Martin had once asked if he could just skip it all together, if Oswald would be okay with a few failing grades on the projects he just couldn't present orally, but Oswald encouraged him to explore and try some different ways to present instead.

Normally Oswald would have been perfectly fine with something like that, Martin didn't talk, that wasn't his fault, but he wanted Martin to learn how to present himself to others. Being a successful, mute, crime lord of Gotham in the future would require a lot of flash and flare in the department. One had to know how to intimidate. Martin needed to learn how he would conduct his business without words and still convey that he was a deadly force to be reckoned with.

It was Ed's idea to teach him gestures, originally. They worked with basic movements that conveyed this or that, and though it was interesting and definitely conveyed Martin's emotional levels, it was sometimes hard to understand what he meant. It wasn't a flawless way of communication by any means.

Victor Zsasz was the one that taught him sign language. Coincidentally also one of the first people under Oswald's employ that learned Martin's gestures, Zsasz seemed to really be interested in Martin's new advances. Some of the thugs had learned a few of Martin's strange hand motions, but Victor was the only one who liked to ask whenever he saw him if there were any new ones, always kept up to date.

Martin appreciated it a lot, Oswald could tell, and much like Oswald, Martin decided Victor was his favorite of the gunmen.

Oswald caught them one afternoon in the kitchen, spoiling Martin's dinner with grilled cheese sandwiches and singing away, sometimes slipping gestures in here and there as well. When Zsasz laughed Martin smiled, and Oswald decided then and there that he would work hard to always maintain Victor's loyalty, if for no other reason that to keep him around for Martin.

"How do you know sign language?" Edward had asked Zsasz one afternoon, after watching the two of them have a small conversation about Zsasz's favorite gun.

Victor had shrugged, "Some of my girls don't talk. It's also a good way to communicate secretly sometimes, not many people in Gotham know it."

He had a point. While the sign language was somewhat more efficient, there were hardly enough people in Gotham who knew it for Martin to be able to use it as frequently as he would need to. It still wasn't going to be enough.

Oswald eventually turned to technology. He had Victor (Fries) make him a tablet of sorts, one designed especially for Matin. When he'd originally come to him with the work, Fries had been hesitant, maybe even a little begrudging, but he complied, took Oswald's briefcase of cash, and handed him a product a week or so later. It came with a stylus for drawing, a little keyboard that would pop up on screen if he wished to type, and a read-aloud feature that gave his words a voice. Like the design of the original notepad, this new device had a strong band attached on either end so that Martin could still wear it around his neck. It  _could_ speak his written words aloud if needed, but Martin hardly used that feature. When Oswald asked why he didn't, he'd said it wasn't 'his own voice' and drew a little grumpy robot with a speech bubble. Edward also  _helpfully_ pointed out that it couldn't convey emotion  _'like a good showman should be able to'_.

So they tried again.

Oswald took the pad back to Fries, asking if there could be any modifications made so that it would be a little more… personal for Martin. Specifically the voice feature. Fries had grumbled about it, but took Oswald's money. He tinkered for a few days and returned the device with a new voice setting and smoother word transitions to replace the stiff, robotic tone that had originally been there.

The first try had been a deep, gravelly voice that Oswald thought would be perfect for a future ruler of Gotham; full of threat and menace, but Edward had told him to try again after hearing an unchildlike boom ask if he could have some ice cream after dinner. Zsasz had slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from snickering.

The second was too high,  _too_ childlike and erring heavily on the side of annoying, but Fries had added the option to choose an emotion to convey this time. There were little buttons Martin could press; happy, sad, angry, neutral, Oswald was impressed.

Fries came to the manor at Oswald's request after that, and spent some time with Martin. Edward and Oswald had both watched him like a hawk as he attached two, sticky, little pads against either side of Martin's throat, and looked on with curiosity as Fries instructed him to hum in different keys. Oswald had been eager, wondering if Fries would be able to create what would have been Martin's real voice. Edward stood beside him, utterly fascinated. Ed had asked a few questions here and there throughout the process, to most of which Victor had grunted, given him something vague in response, and continued with whatever he was doing to the tablet.

"There." Victor said with satisfaction, and handed the little pad to Martin.

Martin looked up at Edward and Oswald nervously. He selected an emotion setting with great trepidation before typing, then lifted his chin to the two of them and anxiously pressed the talk feature.

Oswald's lips parted when the voice came through the little speakers, a perfect combination of boyish charm and the sophistication that Martin clearly held. Edward smiled, and Martin looked ready to cry. Oswald rushed over to him, bending over to place a hand on Martin's cheek and another on his shoulder, "Oh, my boy,  _you have a voice now_."

Martin had buried his face in Oswald's chest with arms wrapped around him, shaking with happy tears.

Martin has used the talk feature a lot more recently, and Oswald is excited to see how he's fitted it into his presentation. This will be the first time Martin will be using his new device for a school project, and he's justifyingly nervous.

His project is on Gotham's criminal history. A surprising topic for an eleven-year-old class, but one both men are curious to hear about, if for no other reason than to hear what history might have to say about  _them_. Oswald makes a quiet bet with Ed that there'll be more to say about The Penguin than The Riddler.

Edward huffs at him.

Martin stands before his board, pad in hand, and smiles brightly before pressing a small series of buttons, " _Hello, and thank you for coming to hear my presentation_..."

Edward and Oswald both clap once he's finished, grinning from ear to ear. He'd done a marvelous job, and the voice worked like a charm. If Martin's lips hadn't remained stationary throughout the presentation, you would never have known.

They'd been a little surprised to see their criminal personas hadn't been immortalized like they'd both hoped, but it didn't matter. Even if their names weren't yet in the Gotham history books, they soon would be, and with Martin makes such strides towards success, Oswald was sure he'd one day be there too. The thought made him proud beyond belief.

 

* * *

 

Martin aced his oral presentation and Oswald could not have been more proud of him. With straight A's across the board, Oswald thought it right to offer Martin a reward for all of his hard work and intellect.

"Would you like to visit an Aquarium today?" Oswald asks the following morning, huge smile plastered on his face.

Martin positively lights up, typing away on his tablet before pressing the button to have it read aloud, " _Can Uncle Ed and Uncle Victor come too_?"

Oswald snorts, raising an eyebrow at the boy, "So Zsasz has been promoted to 'Uncle' as well?"

Martin grins and nods.

"I'm going to have to start scheduling family reunions soon if you keep adding to the bunch like this. Alright, you little monkey," he says fondly, "go ahead and invite them."

The aquarium isn't particularly crowded, which is a marvelous feat considering it's small size. Apparently Gotham officials didn't deem it entirely necessary to have an extensive aquarium, living so close to a large body of water. Of course, the limited exhibits and overall tiny area didn't stop Martin from having fun. He drags them all to each and every tank, pointing and asking questions with his pad.

Zsasz likes catfish the best apparently, and he and Martin spend a good few minutes making faces at them with their cheeks pressed the glass.

Martin's tablet speaks out to them as they break away from the touch tank, " _What's your favorite fish_?" and Martin looks excitedly at both of their faces, eager to know.

After a pause, "I like the tuna." Oswald says with a mischievous grin, "They're the most delicious."

Edward snorts beside him and Zsasz smirks like Oswald's just told a joke.

Edward admits to finding the flatfish to be the most interesting. When Oswald inquires as to why, Edward points the fish out to Martin, and starts on a lesson in flatfish. Apparently they camouflage in and under the sand of the ocean floor, keeping their eyes above them while they wait for prey to swim by. It's when they jump up to move that they become vulnerable, they can't see a thing behind their flat backs. They're a strong fish, but when they attack-when they should, by nature's right, be the  _most_ deadly-they're at their weakest. Not being able to see the much larger fish creeping up behind you is a dangerous disadvantage.

Oswald looks over his shoulder, as if being reminded that he hasn't done so all day.

Edward looks at him thoughtfully, but doesn't say anything, and Martin drags Zsasz by the hand over to the tank that advertises the stingray. Oswald can't actually tell which of the two is more excited to see it. Zsasz  _did_ buy the fuzzy little keychain in the giftshop.

After poking through a few more exhibits, reading the plaques beside the tanks and asking some surprisingly insightful questions for a young boy, Martin decides that the Angelfish is his favorite.

They look tough, but also pretty. He likes the colors, their odd shape, how fast they move. Zsasz says they're like little badasses, and when Martin turns to smile up at him, Oswald decides to send Zsasz out to a pet store after they're done here.

Martin is ecstatic when Zsasz returns from his 'secret mission' and holds out the little plastic baggy for him, and even more enthusiastic when he offers to help Martin set up the tank.

Oswald stops him, raises an eyebrow at the two other bags filled with little fish, and Zsasz shrugs innocently. He'd bought some for himself too it seems, a little school of Blemish fish, because he thought they looked pretty.

" _We can put them in the same tank with Charlie!_ "

Oswald blinks, "Charlie?"

"It's what he named the fish." Zsasz grins and Oswald finds himself only a little jealous that he'd told _Zsasz_ the fish's name before he told Oswald.

Turns out Angelfish are secretly very aggressive. It eats all of the Blemish fish after the first few days in the tank and Zsasz is utterly heartbroken, but then Martin consoles him by offering to co-parent Charlie, and Victor gets back to his old self quickly, the new parent of a little badass. Oswald tries not to think about just how fitting Charlie is for a place like Gotham, like he  _knew_ where he was and what that meant for him.  _Even the fish_ are out to destroy one another here, no regards for anything but themselves.

Oswald looks over his shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Oswald marks the day that he officially adopts Martin on the calendar as one of the happiest of his life. Words can't describe the pride he feels, watching Martin nod his head when the judge asks him if he consents to Oswald becoming his legal guardian, or when he runs up to hug Oswald after all the paperwork is signed and official.

He's a  _father_ now. Martin is Oswald's  _son_... it's a lot to really chew at first, and Oswald wonders with some sense of dread if he'll really be good enough. He's scared to screw Martin up in some way, like he does most relationships, but Edward nudges him gently in the side, tells him to just think of what his mother would do, and Oswald knows everything will be okay.

There's a small party being thrown just for the occasion, and Edward, ever so gracious and cunning, has invited all of the officials that had been involved with Martin's adoption. It was both a way to chum it up with more Gotham City executives  _and_ ensure that his guardianship over Martin would not be questioned in any way. Bribe the jury, as it were.

Oswald appreciates Edward and his cleverness to no end.

During the party however, Oswald can't quite shake the feeling that he's being watched. His eyes roam the surrounding crowd until he catches the gaze of a woman, who's been staring him down longer than he'd care to admit to not noticing.

Oswald starts to panic a little. Who was she? What did she want? Why was she staring? Did it have to do with Martin? Was she involved in Oswald's underworld dealings? Was she there scheming? Did Oswald have a new enemy-

Ed jostles him with a worried look, " _Oswald_ , what are you doing?"

"That woman," Oswald says quietly, like they could be overheard if he didn't whisper, "she's giving me a weird look. Do we know her?"

Edward blinks at him.

"Maybe have Zsasz check her out..."

"Oswald," he smiles, like this situation is simply humorous and not the worrisome threat that it really is, "no one here means you any harm. That's just one of the supporting staff, she's _supposed_ to be examining your interactions with Martin, that's her job."

Oh.

Oswald blushes, a little embarrassed, "Oh, is... is that it..."

Edward pats his back reassuringly, "There's no enemy here, Oswald."

Oswald wants to believe Edward, he really does. He tries not to stare at the woman too often throughout the rest of the evening, but no matter how hard he tries, Oswald can't stop looking over his shoulder at her. The dreadful feeling of being unsafe clings to him even after she's left and the party is well and over. It weighs his shoulders down with a consternation he just can't seem to shrug off.

He's missing something important, Oswald is sure, but he can't figure out what it is.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've officially got just a little over a month left before I move and things get _hectic_ so we're going to try and see if we can finish the last three chapters before then! Be prepared for quicker updates! :) I'm cutting myself off from doing anymore one-shot works for now so I can really crack down on this story, sadly so close to its ending.

"What can’t be eaten at lunch or dinner?" Edward asks Oswald one early morning, Oswald still in the midst of waking up, rubbing his eyes to rid himself of the sleep collected in their corners.

Oswald yawns and doesn’t think much of it, no longer phased by Ed's spur of the moment riddles, even so early in the morning. They've become a fixture in his life once again, and Oswald has re-learned how to get his mind working hard for the few minutes it takes to try and work them out. It's usually worth it. Ed smiles like a spoiled child whenever he gets them right. But before he's had his morning coffee is sort of pushing it. Oswald is still debating in the back of his mind what he'd like to eat for the morning when it clicks.

"Oh! Breakfast," he says, a little surprised with himself for getting it that fast.

Edward doesn't look surprised at all, but he does look pleased. "Correct, of course. Do you think you could be ready in fifteen minutes?"

Oswald blinks, stopping just short of the coffee maker. "What?"

"Breakfast. Let's go get some."

"Oh," Oswald huffs, amused with his own early morning shortcomings. "Forgive me, I'm a creature of the night. I don't function well this early."

Edward smirks. "You're doing just fine, Oswald. It turns out Martin and Zsasz were up late last night, some movie marathon. Martin had lots of soda."

Oswald groans and puts his fingers to his temple. "I _told_ Victor that he couldn't give Martin sugar so late. _Soda_ as well. Mother always said it was bad for growing boys. He's not supposed to have it with the exception of special occasions." He glares at the coffee maker. "Zsasz knows that."

"You can reprimand him later, they're both still asleep," Edward replies with a great big grin. "So I figured you and I could pop out for something to eat this morning. When we get back you can throw a bucket of water on them."

"Not Martin, but Zsasz definitely." He pulls a mug down from the cupboard. "...Do we still have that megaphone from my campaign by any chance?"

"I might be able to find it somewhere," Edward muses.

"Blast something classy, like Mozart. He'll hate that."

"Zsasz dislikes classical music?"

Oswald shrugs, and finally pours a little coffee into his lonely mug. It's not a full cup, since they'll be heading out in a few, but enough to give him the initial kickstart he needs to get a move on. He takes a sip, hums around the rim of the mug, and smiles sleepily over at Edward. "Not particularly, but he's more into funk and disco, so I think the graceful slowness of it would simply drive him up the wall. I'm the one that prefers classical. Oh, you know what, I take it back. Play something _teeth-grittingly_ country. We _both_ hate that. Make sure there's a banjo somewhere in there."

"Alright," Edward laughs. He stands from his seat at the island to come stand beside Oswald, carefully lifting the mug out of his fingers and grinning mischievously when Oswald tries to chase it. "Come on, go get dressed. You can't go out to eat in a night robe, no matter how good you look in it."

Oswald stumbles a little over that, mouth parting in surprise and completely forgetting about his stolen coffee in favor of realizing how close they suddenly are. Oswald, who had been previously leaning against the counter, had stood straighter and wandered into Ed's personal space to try and retrieve his cup, putting him less than an inch from Edward's unfairly expansive torso. They are almost nose to nose, and Oswald has to sputter when Edward doesn’t even flinch, no inkling to move away.

Oswald was sure he'd stopped breathing when Edward's other hand drifted to his waist, possibly just to hold him in place while his long arm held the coffee mug far out of reach.

Then of course, there was Edward's casual comment about his robe; he'd said Oswald _looked good_.

"Umm, Edward…."

Ed smiles, sets the cup on the counter, and lets his now free hand drift to Oswald's other hip. Oswald is so distracted by the move that he doesn't catch Edward's face moving closer until his lips had already planted a gentle kiss over his cheek.

Oswald sputters, looking up at Ed with wide eyes. "You-"

"Breakfast," he says, interrupting Oswald's panic and taking a step back. "Fifteen minutes."

And Oswald is left alone to have his heart attack in peace, falling back against the counter with a huff, face beet red as he lifts his hand to touch where Edward has kissed him.

 

* * *

 

Oswald is a little surprised to find that Edward's taken him to a diner, a little 50's themed place called _Zack's_ , green booths with a rogue stripe down the middle, and tiny jukeboxes at every table. It was nice, but Oswald decided he wasn't a fan of the owner after meeting him. The man had an ego the size of his beer gut, both too large to be pleasant.

He was friendly enough, welcoming them in with a greasy grin, but Oswald couldn't shake the feeling of distrust and maybe just a little disgust.

He sticks a little closer to Edward as they find a booth, shrugs his coat off and smiles politely at the waitress when she drops off a set of menus for them.

"Relax, Oswald," Edward says with an assuring simper. "You're tense."

Oswald sighs. "Sorry... I don't go out to eat very often, maybe it's that."

Edward slides a hand across the table to gently lay over the one Oswald used to hold his menu. "Just relax."

Oswald smiles.

After some initial debating and a few questions to one another back and forth, Oswald finally settles on a Denver omelette with a side of toast, Edward on a breakfast platter. For as thin as Edward was, Oswald was amused to see him order such a large variety of foods: bacon, eggs, toast, hash browns, a side of fruit, and a milkshake to wash it all down. It had to all attribute to his height, Oswald thinks, somewhat envious. He was always careful to watch his weight. Anything he ate went right to his belly. Someday down the road he'd wind up a short, fat little man if he wasn't careful.

"You don't want a milkshake?" Edward asks as the waitress starts to collect their menus.

Oswald sees her pause, about to reach for her notepad, but he waves her off. "No, I'm fine. Coffee is enough for me."

Edward shrugs. "If you want a sip of mine, you're welcome to it."

"Thank you," Oswald grins. "You know, I don't think I've had a milkshake since I was a boy. My mother was still trying to adapt to American culture and she brought me to a diner. She demanded we have burgers and shakes, because that was what Americans did."

"I find it hard to imagine you eating anything that wouldn't require the use of a knife and fork," Edward chuckles.

"Well, my manners were drilled into me at a later time," Oswald grins back. "Maybe seeing me with the hamburger was what finally convinced my mother that my manners were just too appalling."

He smirks, "You realize I have to bring you back here sometime to see you eat a burger, right?"

Oswald smiles. "You'll regret it."

"We could bring Martin too. Has he ever been?"

"I would doubt it... he's been an orphan most of his conscious life. If he had, he would have been too young to remember." Oswald admits, somewhat sadly, "It might be selfish of me... but in a way I'm glad that I get to be the one to show him all these things for the first time. Like the aquarium." He looks up at Edward. "Is that awful of me?"

Edward shrugs. "You're his parent. You love him. I don't think it's bad to want to share new experiences."

Oswald smiles gratefully. "You always did know what to say to make me feel better. Even when we...."

Oswald trails off from their pleasant reminiscing when he catches the eye of a patron across the diner for what he realizes is the third time since they've sat down. He narrows his eyes suspiciously, looking over the man and then the companions that surround him. Large, burly, with a greasy, scraggly beard hanging off his chin. Overall, undeniably a ruffian.

"Oswald?"

"We're being watched."

Edward stiffens, but keeps his voice calm and collected as he asks Oswald where the accused party is seated. Oswald admired him for many reasons, Edward's ability to casually watch people or listen in to their conversations being one of them. He was cool as a cucumber as he cocked his head to the side, pretending to brush something from his shoulder as he took a look behind himself, getting an eyeful of the clump of gritty men giving them harsh glares.

When he was finished, he huffs, turning back to Oswald with a small smile. "You have nothing to worry about, Oswald. A simple case of immature homophobia, nothing more. We're not in any danger apart from maybe a few crude slurs."

" _Homophobia_?" Oswald sputters almost before he's finished, tearing his eyes away from the men to Edward with a confused look. "Why would they-?"

Edward turns his attention to his food, looking discomfited, and Oswald can do little more than gawk.

"Ed, is... is this a _date_?"

He sighs, picking at an egg with his fork until the yolk starts to run down and away from it's white bed. "That was my intention when I asked you out this morning... but obviously I didn't do a good job of clarifying that."

Oswald thinks about the kiss to his cheek, and suddenly feels like a fool.

"I realize I haven't exactly been... overtly intentious," he says, and sets the fork down all together, eyes dropping to Oswald's lips as if to prove a point before flicking back up to Oswald's. "Would it have been better if I was?"

Oswald is fairly certain that he's swallowed his tongue. His words don't seem capable of coming out. _Edward is coming onto him_. He's spent so long thinking of it as such an impossibility that having it actually happen has thrown him for an outrageous loop. The impossible coming true, where else but Gotham?

Edward sighs when Oswald takes too long to answer, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. "It doesn't have to be a date, Oswald. I-"

"No! Ed, that's fine, it's not that- _I'd love it to be a date._ I just mean- I just wasn't...." _Oswald had just never expected Ed to actually ask him on a date_. "I didn't think you were interested in me that way. Never thought you could be.... I would have worn something different."

Ed smiles, entirely too relieved. "I _am_ romantically interested in you, Oswald, and I like what you're wearing. Pinstripes always did suit you."

"I'm probably overdressed for a diner in any case..." Oswald says, ducking his head a little to hide the blush racing to his cheeks.

Ed shrugs. "Me too. Maybe that's why they were looking at us."

Reminded of the men examining them, Oswald's eye strains for another subtle look. It's only because of that that he sees the little disgusted twitch of one man's lip and another's eye when Ed's hand covers Oswald's. Homophobia. That's all. They don't look disgusted enough to do anything about it, and even if they did, Oswald and Ed are forces of nature in Gotham. They wouldn't be stupid enough to try anything on them. _They're fine_. Oswald is still safe.

Edward's hand slipping over Oswald's jolts him back to the present, to Edward, sitting across from him in the middle of _a breakfast date_ , talking about the fact that this _is_ a date. "I'm sorry I was so cruel to you about your feelings before. I just... never wanted to accept my own. I couldn't. Isabella…." Edward's hand drops away sadly, and Oswald finds himself reaching out to grasp it again before Edward can pull away completely.

"I... really _am_ sorry, Edward. I was... stupid and jealous at the time. I didn't know how to tell you how I felt and she was taking you away from me. If I'd just gone about things differently...."

"We're sorting it out." Edward smiles, squeezing Oswald's hand lightly. "You apologizing was a step forward I never thought we'd be able to take. You've clearly grown since then."

"In Gotham, you have to always have to grow. We're all constantly adapting to change. It's the only way to stay alive."

The cheery brightness in Edward's eyes dims ever so slightly, and he gives Oswald one more squeeze before returning to the plate in front of him. "Have you ever thought about leaving Gotham?"

Oswald frowns at his breakfast. "A few times.... Never for very long. Gotham may be dark and demanding of me, but it's my home. I belong here. I _excell_ here."

"I'm sure you could excell anywhere, Oswald."

He smiles wistfully, "Maybe, but... this is also where my mother chose to settle. She chose this to be our home. I like to think that meant something significant."

Edward offers Oswald a kind look. "I believe your mother would still be proud of you no matter what. Wherever you chose to use your talents to rise to the top of any totem pole, I'm sure she'd be just as equally proud." When Ed lifts his head out from where he's been cutting into one of the eggs with a fork, his eyes startle wide. "Oswald?"

Oswald lifts a hand to his cheek, letting out a little self-deprecating laugh when it came back damp. That was really what it came down to, the sought-out approval of his dearly departed mother. Ed had tapped into that withheld need so quickly. Oswald still remembered Hugo Strange's 'therapy' sessions- being poked, prodded, and electrocuted until he was forced to relive memories he didn't want to revisit at any time. He remembered Strange's curiosity about his drive for power. The evolution that course had taken. First for his mother's approval, for the love of others, then- after her death and too many betrayals- the fear. Oswald wanted people to fear him and his power because no one would love him for it. He wasn't the type to be loved.

Yet here was Edward, complimenting his appearance twice in one morning, holding his hand in a public restaurant, telling Oswald he was something _worth being proud of._ It was all Oswald really could have ever hoped for; what he'd thought for the longest time was doomed to be a nothing more than a dreamy unattainability.

But Oswald hated to cry in front of others. He hated to show any weakness, and they were in _public_ too. He sniffs, raises his chin, and wills the tears to cease their falling. He smiles, genuine, any trace of his usual politely false mannerisms completely out of sight, looking at Edward with such open love and gratefulness.

"Thank you, Ed."

Edward blinks, looking positively enraptured as he stares at Oswald, as if he's seeing him for the first time, and tugs on the knot of his tie with a small cough. "Of-" he clears his throat again when the word comes out croaky, "Of course.... Are you alright?"

"I was a little panicky," he admits, then spears a mouthful of Denver omelette onto his fork with a practiced air of indifference, "but I feel much better now."

"Oswald, you were crying."

"I tend to sometimes become overwhelmed with my emotions, as you well know." He gives Ed a tersely meaningful look, before placing the morsel into his mouth.

Edward nods, maybe a little regretful, and follows Oswald's example by taking a bite of his own food.

The rest of the meal continues with pleasant conversation, talk about business, Martin, some of the things Edward had been up to while Oswald had been in Arkham. They talk about Oswald's new order of suits and the matching pairs he'd ordered for Martin, how Edward thinks Oswald should let him decide his own style. They talk about Martin's future, how Oswald plans to prime him to one day pull the strings behind the scenes and name Oswald as his heir. Had it been anyone else sitting down through a fourth refill of coffee with him, their plates long since taken away and the bill paid, Oswald is sure they would have grown tired of him droning on and on about Martin and his plans. His _surprisingly paternal_ plans. Edward doesn't seem bored in the slightest though. In fact, he seems genuinely intrigued and sometimes charmed when Oswald gets particularly fatherly.

_"You, fatherdom. It's oddly suited to you in a way."_

Oswald can't help but beam at Edward as he suggests some ideas of his own, softly and with a clear disclaimer that Oswald doesn't have to take any of them.

 _It would suit you too, Ed_. He thinks, selfindulgingly, and pushes the thought away just as quickly as it comes to him.

As they finally get around to leaving, Oswald sure that Martin and Zsasz will be awake by then, they spot the same gaggle of overgrown goons exiting in front of them. Oswald narrows his eyes and makes a note of the license plate of the car they all climb into.

Just in case.

 

* * *

 

 

Edward brings over a few extra boxes of his things after it’s apparent to everyone that he’ll be staying indefinitely. Oswald happily helps him unpack, despite Edward’s insistence that he needn’t bother.

They’re halfway through a collection of Edward’s miscellaneous keepings when Oswald pulls out a shoebox that doesn’t hold shoes. The weight is too well distributed and different from the weight Oswald recognizes whenever he picks up a new pair for himself. He knows it doesn’t contain the advertised Oxfords the box suggests.

He opens it curiously while Edward is placing a few mysterious knick-knacks on a shelf, and his breath leaves him.

Oswald plucks the first letter from the top of the pile, staring at his own handwriting scribbled over the top where he’d addressed it to Edward.

He looks up, and Edward is stalking closer, having been alerted by Oswald’s startled gasp. “You kept these?”

Edward spies the box in his hands and has the nerve to look sheepish before nodding. “You weren’t supposed to see them. I forgot they were in there.”

Oswald looks down at the contexts of the shoebox again. “Did you save _all_ of them?”

Edward sits down on the bed beside him. “I threw away the first few… but I’ve still got _almost_ all of them here.”

"Why did you decide to start keeping them?" he asks curiously, and starts sifting through the pile to note the dates.

Ed's face becomes bashful and rosy. "You wrote me a riddle," he says. "It reminded me of the time you spent hours at your desk trying to make one for me, and I liked remembering that."

Oswald clutches the letter tightly in his hand, chuckling. "Believe it or not, Ed, I actually had that exact incident in mind when I wrote you."

The moments between he and Edward simply looking at each other, sat side by side on the mattress, and the light crush of their lips is slowed down for Oswald. He can see when Edward starts to lean, lidded gaze flickering between Oswald's eyes and his lips. He can see what's about to happen, and the surprise has his eyes widening, chest pounding, feeling like he's mid-run and sprinting still.

The kiss itself is soft and unrushed. Edward’s lips only start to slowly move after Oswald lets go of the startled tension in his body, pivoting a little to better face him. Ed's hand slides up to cradle Oswald's face, and Oswald's fingers are curled into the fabric of Edward's suit jacket.

Oswald always prided himself on his meticulous planning, being able to see all the different outcomes, but for the life of him, Oswald hadn't expected Edward to kiss him like this.

" _God_ , I've wanted to do that for ages," Edward says after they've pulled apart, pressing his forehead to Oswald's with an elated, slightly breathless chuckle.

"Why didn't you?"

Edward frowns, "Besides Jerome, you mean? There was Martin to think of. I thought that you developing a good relationship with him required priority. You both needed that first. We spent this long with our heads up our asses, what was another few months or even a year? We have all the time in the world to figure out where we stand with one another."

Oswald smiles at him adoringly. "Thank you, Ed. Really, I appreciate that more than I can say. I think I would have been distracted... and probably not ready yet if you had tried."

"I thought about that too. We needed some time to... get past things before trying to start something new."

Oswald sighs wistfully, "I'll admit that I missed you looking out for me like this. It was part of the reason I fell for you in the first place."

Edward grins, big and wide. "Only part? The rest was my good looks and amazing intellect, right?"

Oswald shoves him playfully. "You're fishing."

He smirks teasingly, "If I don't catch myself some fish, how am I supposed to feed my penguin?"

Oswald barks out a laugh before shaking his head with disappointment. "Edward, I honestly believe that was the worst joke I've _ever_ had the misfortune of hearing you make."

Ed guffaws, "My jokes are flawless."

"Stick to the riddles, Ed." Oswald smirks, "Leave the jokes to the professionals."

"You mean like Jerome?" Edward huffs out, and Oswald can tell there's a little bit of genuine insecurity hiding behind the razz.

Oswald thinks on it, and though he knows the little jab should stir some ill-begotten memories in him, Oswald hasn’t relived his memories of Jerome in some time. He’s even more surprised to find out he doesn’t care to just now.

"Huh," Oswald muses, mostly to himself.

Ed frowns, "What?"

Oswald peers down at the letters again, sitting atop Edward's bed inside the shoebox. They're in what is now commonly known as Ed's room... because Edward _has a room here_ . He lives here, with Oswald... with Martin and Zsasz, the things that make up the whole of Oswald's relational life. He hasn't had any time between raising a young boy, re-establishing himself in Gotham's hierarchy, and the sparse moments he actually gets to fret about his feelings for Edward to really have _time_ to think about Jerome.

"I just realized this might be the first time I've thought of Jerome in some months..." he admits with some sense of astonishment.

Edward smirks, slyly sliding a finger down the line of Oswald's neck, grin only widening when Oswald makes a surprised sound in response. "Would you judge me if I said that I'm _extremely_ pleased to hear that?"

"Given what I know of your romantic history, it's not the least bit surprising to me."

The wandering hand makes its way all the way down to Oswald's waist, slipping around and behind so that Edward has a palm pressed against the small of Oswald's back, and Oswald feels his heart pounding excitedly in his head at their close proximity and Edward's intimate touches.

"Yet you still keep me around."

He huffs. "It would be rather hypocritical of me to shun you for being jealous...."

Edward snorts, "Perhaps."

 

* * *

 

 

Sofia Falcone had been a wicked, deceiving woman, who had really never been Oswald's friend at all... but despite her shortcomings, Sofia Falcone had been smart. As Oswald worked to care for Martin, he found himself remembering the advice that she had given him. He remembered Don Falcone and his chickens, and while Martin was a hundred times more special than _chickens_ , he still found himself drawing comparisons between the two, how Sofia had said it would help him to have something to care for and work towards outside of the daily grind of his work.

He enjoyed taking a break from the rough and tumble of Gotham's underworld to simply sit beside Martin, watch him read or have a conversation about how his school work is going. He enjoyed sitting beside the hearth of the fireplace next to Ed, Martin belly-down on the floor as he doodled in his pad, feet kicking up behind him. Sometimes Edward would snuggle up to him, leave an arm open for Oswald to slide in and against his side. Sometimes Zsasz brought cocoa and he and Martin squabbled for the majority of the marshmallows. It was all for show though. Victor let him win every time.

The weather in Gotham was always grim and cold on a good day alone. Once autumn hit, the weather packed a sharp bite.

Oswald bought Martin an oversized coat, admittedly intentional, just to see his boy drag through the snow surrounding the manor like a little eskimo. Oswald found too much pleasure in Martin's adorableness. Again, cue suburban mother, Oswald's secret inner personality.

His rekindling with Edward slowly but surely became more of a developed habit. The changes came in small increments, built up overtime until the two had settled into a regular routine of being close. They brushed their teeth together simply because it made sense- they commenced with their nightly undress around the same time anyway, and this gave Oswald and Edward moments alone to discuss things that could be sensitive to Martin's underdeveloped ears. Edward joined him and Martin for dinner since he'd need to eat anyway, and the chefs always made enough food to feed a small army.

Oswald's favorite part had come to be the mornings. Edward greets Oswald at breakfast, offering a cheery smile to combat Oswald's early morning grumbles. Those bright, shimmering grins were what kept Oswald going throughout the day, like a shot of caffeine anytime he thought back on them.

"Good morning, Oswald," Edward says, turning down the pages of his newspaper for a moment to flash Oswald the daily dazzle, teeth pearly and white.

Oswald uses the same toothpaste as Edward, but his teeth never look that perfect.

"Morning," he grumps in reply, dragging himself over to the coffee maker and nodding towards Martin, sitting on the stool beside Edward. "Good morning, Martin."

Martin smiles, and waves his hand so that he doesn't have to stop eating to type a response.

Oswald pours himself a mug, the pre-made coffee yet another blessing that Ed delivers each morning, and clicks his tongue. "Oh, Martin, Victor will be picking you up from school today. I won't be riding with him, and I don't know if I'll be home by the time you get here."

At that, Martin did set down his fork, took a gulp of milk, and pulled his pad into his lap. " _What are you doing today?_ "

Edward pauses his reading to watch for Oswald's answer as well, curiously peeking over the crisp edge of the paper. Oswald takes a sip of his coffee. "I have some business down at the docks today.”

Edward cocks his head. "What business do you have there?"

"I'm seeing Butch. He's looking for money to afford some plastic surgery or something," Oswald says, thinking fast.

It was a half truth. Butch was looking for money, and Oswald had been in contact with him, but that business had been concluded a few days prior. Oswald had considered moving forward with his original plan for the matter, assisting Butch and getting him back to normal, pushing him and Tabitha Galavan back together and then shooting him in front of her. His mother still deserved revenge, retribution from her murderers, but Oswald had Martin to think about now.

That plan had been perfect when he assumed he would be alone. Now he had Martin and Edward, easy targets for someone out to hurt him.

So Oswald had let it go, given Tabitha another day. He'd exact his revenge at another time.

"Oh, right. Grundy problems."

Oswald narrows his eyes. "You knew?"

"Grundy and I were partners for a time. Worked the narrows a bit with Lee Thompkins."

Oswald frowns. "When was that?"

Edward puts on an air of indifference, but Oswald knows better, there's a little tint of red to his cheeks as he says, "Just before I got myself caught," He spends a second with his mouth pressed tightly shut before quickly adding, "to see you."

The specially designed voice of Martin's tablet jostles them out of their moment. " _Are you two together now? Like, boyfriends?_ "

Oswald sputters, a little coffee dribbling down his chin as he turns to Edward for help answering, but Edward only smiles, completely uninterested in deterring Martin when he says, "I think I could get used to referring to you as my boyfriend."

"That's so _juvenile_ though..." Oswald sighs, but lets Edward tilt forward to kiss his temple anyway. "I honestly expected you to be the kind of guy to use rustic terms like... lover or- God, do you tell people that you're 'courting' someone? I bet you do."

"You're being facetious, Oswald," Edward mutters, feigning offence. "Though I suppose if you wanted me to, I _have_ always wanted to refer to someone as _my fancy_ in passing conversation. Imagine how proper and unique it would sound!"

Oswald groans, knowing Ed is just putting him on and well past caring as he rises to the bait. "Oh good lord, that's somehow even worse. I concede, boyfriend is fine."

Martin grins, and presses a button on his tablet to voice words that seemed to have already been written out, just waiting to be said. " _Uncle Zsasz owes me twenty dollars! I'd like to go buy a ceramic castle, can I go with him to the store while you're out?_ "

"I would fire him if he wasn't such a good uncle," Oswald snorts, amused in spite of himself. "And what in the world do you need a ceramic castle for?"

" _For Charlie,_ " Martin states, looking at Oswald like that was obvious, and maybe it should have been, but Oswald is still a little distracted by the term 'boyfriend' even if he's pretending to hide it well.

"And why does _Charlie_ need a castle? He has that little skull Zsasz bought him. He likes that well enough, doesn't he?"

Martin nods before shrugging, " _You're king of Gotham, I'm going to be king someday... I want Charlie to be a king too._ "

Oswald can’t help himself, and bends over to wrap Martin up in a tight, fatherly, and overwhelmingly proud hug.

Edward smirks beside them, and Oswald has a mind to jab him with an elbow, but he lifts up to his toes to kiss Edward's cheek in reply instead, giving both him and Martin a quick farewell before toddering out with his cane to attend to the mysterious business he has planned for the day.

 

* * *

 

 

Oswald's 'business' consists of violently torturing the men they'd encountered during their morning out at the diner.

Even after days without seeing them, they'd remained in Oswald's subconscious. Their faces were like photographs in his mind, a potential threat perceived. He couldn't get past the apprehensiveness he felt knowing that they were simply wandering around in the streets, no doubt plotting against him.

It only takes an hour of his usual routine to come to the conclusion that they really are nothing more than a brutish clique of homophobes, as well as misogynists, and their threatening glares had been for nothing more than Edward's innocent handholding. He doesn't regret killing them in the slightest, though he does end it gracefully with a bullet to their heads. The little itch that had been nagging at him fades with the light in their eyes.

He feels a little safer, now that he's gotten rid of the threat that had been leaving him so restless...

but...

There's still _something_ he's missing.

 

* * *

 

 

Oswald quickly realizes that his little blips of paranoia aren't as infrequent as he'd like to believe. He finds himself watching strangers that pass him by as if they were old enemies. _He startles himself in the mirror sometimes,_ and it's all so disgustingly unacceptable for someone like him, he doesn't even know how to go about addressing it.

He doesn't even really know what he's looking out for, _but he's looking_. Oswald _never stops_ _looking_.  

It's no special morning when Oswald comes down for coffee, a little late after having slept in. The kitchen is empty as he pours himself a mug, and, no longer used to the silence, Oswald flips on the small television settled beside the microwave. The screen clicks, the fuzz fades out, and Oswald flips the channel from Martin's cartoons to the mid-day news.

His cup almost slips out of his hand and goes crashing to the floor when he sees a familiar face plastered beside the concerned looking anchor.

"-- _Though Jonathan Crane and Jervis Tetch are well known criminals themselves, an insider tip has told us that the GCPD believes that Jerome Valeska, notorious leader of the former crime group called the "Maniax", convicted for matricide and multiple acts of terrorism, is the true mastermind behind their, as well as many others, escape from Arkham Asylum. We'll be following this story very closely, more to come_ \--"

Oswald sets his coffee down onto the counter with a shaky hand, well awake now without it. He stares at the mangled face of Jerome, smiling into the camera for what had to have been his most recent mugshot, and Oswald doesn't know what to feel. His stomach does somersaults, flopping between a sense of relief and fear. Jerome had gotten out, so he and Edward hadn't completely ruined his chances of escape. He wonders if Jerome will find him, if he'll even be looking. Oswald's had such a turn of face these last few months who's to say that Jerome hasn't too?

Maybe he'll come to collect the favor Oswald promised him.

Maybe he won't be so friendly.

Maybe he'll be _too_ friendly.

Maybe he won't even spare Oswald a fleeting thought.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I have nothing against country music personally, I just feel that Oswald definitely would. XD
> 
> It's also been far too long since we've seen Jerome, and now that Edward and Oswald have revived... _something_ between them, it's time he comes back into play. ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I ended up having to split chapter 9 into two parts (so we now have 12 chapters) because it was just so long... I hadn't even finished it and my counter said I hit _8.5k words_... That felt just way too long, and again, that was _before_ it was even done. So yeah. Two chapters. (but that also means the next will be out quick, since it's almost done too) This chapter is still 5.5k though, so I hope you don't mind the split. :P

 

Oswald gets a call from Jerome almost immediately. The same morning that Oswald saw the news, in fact. Oswald and Martin are in his study, and Oswald has elected to put Jerome out of mind to get some work done. He answers with his normal drawl, the typical, formal nonchalance, but when he hears the familiar giggle come through, voice deep and gravely—a side effect of his resurrection that had lingered, Oswald found out—he sits up straight as a board.

" _Aw_ , you almost don't sound pleased to hear from me."

He almost falls out of his chair, heart suddenly pounding like there was a jackrabbit inside of his chest, trying to kick its way out. " _Jerome_?"

"Miss me?"

Oswald looks over to Martin, sitting on the couch in his office and drawing on his notepad, feet swinging back and forth carelessly while Oswald did his work. His stomach drops. "Why are you calling, Jerome?"

"I can't call just ‘cus I missed your pretty voice?"

Oswald narrows his eyes. " _Is_ that why you called?"

A light sigh, and then Jerome buzzes on, "I'm calling to give you a little heads up, for old times sake. But maybe also that," he says, voice sultry as a wicked song, "Don't tune into any radio stations for the rest of the day. Just keep it all turned off."

Oswald frowns, "What do you mean? Why?"

"Just trust me, babe, you wouldn't like today's planned program and I hear the song selection sucks, try again tomorrow."

Oswald blinks at his phone with confusion when the line clicks over to signify that Jerome has hung up. He doesn't understand, but Oswald stands from his desk and moves into action. To be safe, he unplugs the radio all together and instead puts on an old record to fill the silence. Martin doesn't seem to care about the atmospheric change, so Oswald doesn't offer any explanation.

On the news the next morning, the top story is half of Gotham city standing on the rooftops, one foot over the edge and ready to jump at midnight after being put under the thrall of Jervis Tetch. Oswald almost breaks down after realizing he and Martin could have been on that list.... That they were too far from the city to have heard the GCPD's speakers set up in the streets when James finally saved all of their lives. He gives Martin a tight hug, arms wrapped like restricting coils, and ignores his confused noises as he tries to type out questions.

 

* * *

 

He doesn't hear from Jerome again until later that evening when going through his his mail. At the top of the pile is a neatly printed invitation, insisting he be present for an upcoming brunch. Oswald almost shrugs it off, not exactly feeling social, but the generic little smiley sticker on the back in place of a wax stamp has him hesitating. He opens it to find his suspicions confirmed. It's from Jerome, and Oswald is startled to learn that the brunch is to be hosted at _his_ manor.

_Attendance is mandatory._

It's mainly due to the sheer ridiculousness of it all that Oswald doesn't immediately try to recontact the number Jerome had used to call him prior. Not that he's even certain he could. Oswald doubts Jerome has anything more than burners now and then for the few times he needs them. Even then, what would he do? Demand Jerome find someplace else? Risk angering him? Instead he stands stalk still for a moment, lips floundering about as he looks over the invitation again and again, hoping he's misread something or that there will be a 'gotcha' hiding at the end. He hasn't misread a thing. It's not a joke.

His mouth drops open and closes like Zsasz's little coddle of Blemishes. He wonders if that makes Jerome the Angelfish; if that means Oswald is going be eaten alive for his carelessness.

He doesn't tell Edward.

He can't... He wouldn't know how.

Even if there was something Edward could do about it, Oswald doubted it would end well for any of them. If he refused the invitation and tried to keep Jerome and whatever other nefarious criminals he'd invited into Oswald's home outside, there was a good chance that any or all of them could wind up dead. Oswald didn't want to put Jerome on the spot like that, Edward even less. And _Martin,_ well, Oswald would like to keep him as far away from all the carnage as he can manage.

If they tried to run, Oswald would be sacrificing what little he had left of his father. He'd probably lose their home to whatever angry reconciliation Jerome might take out on it. Oswald didn't doubt Jerome would find them anyway. He had no intentions of living on the run from someone so driven by unfinished business. That alone would be enough to drive someone into living underground, and Oswald would never bode well like that. He'd drive himself insane. Not to mention Martin, and the bright future he had ahead of him, would be ruined.

So he agrees, mentally of course, there’s no way to contact Jerome, and simply does his best to stay calm within the few days between when the invitation arrived and when Jerome had scheduled the brunch. He hides the little card away deep in his desk, behind paperwork nobody would think to lift or inspect, and waits.

Edward practically storms in as Oswald is helping Martin get ready for bed.

It's late and Oswald is fairly tired himself, which is probably why he doesn't connect that this is the first time he's actually seen Edward since Jerome had escaped. It was only the day after, and while Oswald had been a little miffed to not hear from Edward immediately after the news started covering Jerome's escape, he knew Edward had been working in the narrows. There wasn't a lot of media coverage there.

"Oswald!" Edward yells from just past the front door, and Martin leaps past Oswald to make a start for the stairs.

Martin pokes his head over the railing to spy Edward just before Oswald does.

He's soaked from the rain, and Oswald only has a blithering moment to fuss over him, tell him to get out of his wet clothes and take a hot shower, before Edward catches his arm. "Jerome's out."

Oswald's eyes widen and he immediately looks over to Martin. The boy's been helping Oswald settle Ed, taking his coat and bowler to hang up on the coat rack. He's turned away from them when Oswald turns his head, so Oswald leans forward and says in a hushed tone, "Let me put Martin to bed first."

"You already knew?"

"It was on the news yesterday morning," he says simply, and ushers Martin back up the stairs while Edward stews in the front hall. "Take a hot shower, Ed," he calls over his shoulder. "I'll be back in a bit."

Edward grumbles, but Oswald can see him kicking off his shoes by the door as he takes the last steps up and out of sight.

 

* * *

 

Later, after Martin is sound asleep and Edward has warmed up with a change of clothes, they meet in the living room.

The fireplace is lit and the rain still pours down outside the windows. Oswald is vaguely reminded of the night Butch tried to strangle Ed, how they'd sat right here and recuperated. Edward had worn Oswald's robe while he fixed him some ginger tea and honey (his mother's recipe for a sore throat), staring at the red ring around his throat that looked like it would be a ghastly bruise in the morning. It was the same night Edward told Oswald that he would do anything for him, the same night Oswald realized that he was in love with Edward Nygma.

Oswald sat beside Edward now and smiled, wondering if Edward remembered it too, if this atmosphere held the same meaning to him that it did to Oswald, though he didn't expect it to. Oswald had known he was in love with Edward way before Ed could even fathom the idea. He's still curious though, and realizes he actually doesn't know at what point Edward had developed feelings for Oswald.

"How did you find out about Jerome?" he asks instead.

Edward frowns as he sits back against the couch. "One of Lee's people let her know. She's got eyes on the rest of the city, even if she insists that anything outside of the narrows isn't her business."

"Ah," Oswald says. "The news took two days to reach her? A little slow, for a crime lord’s secret network."

"We were underground. Big plans. Lee trusts her people because they're all extremely loyal, but there are still a few planted soldiers in her operation right now, ones that used to work for Sofia Falcone. She hasn't been taking any chances until she can be sure she's gotten rid of the rats." He rubs his eyes, “and she’s not a crime lord. At least... don’t let her hear you say it.” 

Oswald nods slowly, a little surprised Edward is sharing so much with him considering he and Lee operate on opposite sides of the city’s underworld. He must know Oswald doesn't plan to use the information against her, since she and Ed are somehow such close friends now, but the point is that he _could_.

Edward breaks Oswald out of his thinking with a frustrated sigh. "You should have called me. I'm sorry I didn't come back sooner."

"You were busy taking care of your business with Mrs. Thompkins." Oswald shrugs, "I figured you would hear about it soon enough."

Edward turns his head to face Oswald better with a worried frown. Oswald is still sitting straight up in his seat, hands gracefully overlapped atop his cane. "Are you okay?"

Oswald puffs out a humored breath. "I'm fine. He hasn't been here if that's what you’re wanting to ask."

He nods, and Oswald can see that there's more to his line of questioning. They may be here for some time. He relaxes his shoulders to try and make himself a little more comfortable.

"Has he contacted you at all?"

Oswald hums, "He called a little before lunch yesterday and warned me about the radio stations. Tetch hypnotized half the city, I don't know if you heard."

"Same time I heard about Valeska. He called to warn you?" Edward repeats, a little bit of astonishment riddling his tone.

"'For old time sake', he said."

"I'm once again sorry that I wasn't here. We were underground and-"

"There's no need to apologize, Edward. You didn't know, and Martin and I were both fine."

"I _should_ have known though. That's the point. I finally hear about everything and I'm two days late!" he huffs, leaning forward onto his knees with hands rubbing over his face. "I'm going to start keeping my cellphone on at all times when I'm not here, and I need you to call me whenever something happens."

Oswald dismisses him with a pooh-pooh, because Edward’s being ridiculous, so he will too. "Ed, we're both fine, there's no reason-"

"What if something happens to either of you and I'm not around? You could have _died_ yesterday night and I'd have been the last to know...."

Oswald tries to keep his heart in his chest, words dying on his lips and cheeks warming in no relation to the crackling fire. He ducks his chin, and softly agrees, "Okay.” He says, “I apologize. I'll call you whenever something happens from now on."

Edward lifts his head from out of his hands, bringing one hand over to Oswald's and pulling it away from the cane to lightly press his lips against a knuckle. "Thank you. I would never forgive myself if something happened to either of you because of my own foolishness."

Oswald huffs out a short laugh, simultaneously trying to hide his blush, "Miscommunication doesn't make you a fool, Ed."

"Not being here for you when you need me most does."

Oswald can't even hide behind a false laugh this time, and instead he offers Edward a small, bashful smile.

Edward lightly grins down at where he's holding Oswald's hand. His smile fades, and he draws in a deep breath, like he's steeling himself. "Oswald," he says, and Oswald looks away from their joined hands up into Edward's eyes.

"Yes?"

"If Jerome does contact you, I want you to be careful," he says slowly, "and I think..." he pauses again.

" _Yes?_ " Oswald urges with concern.

It isn't often that Edward Nygma loses his words and it has Oswald immediateky worried, fearing the worst.

"I think..." he says again, "we should talk about how he might relate to the paranoia you've been experiencing lately."

Oswald frowns, suddenly feeling the need to close himself off, jump back into his protective shell, and juts up his chin to blow air out through his nose. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Edward looks a little put out, but remains soft in his tone. "Oswald, I'm a literal genius. I notice things even when I _don't_ want to, but I always notice you. You can't hide something like that from me for long... and you shouldn't feel the need to." He sighs, "We're supposed to be in this together, aren't we?"

Oswald isn't sure if it's the way Edward is looking at him, if it's the pleading tone in his voice or just how deep those words cut, but he relents. Oswald rests his cane against the sofa beside him and clasps his hands together in his lap, trying not to fidget as he speaks. "I thought it was just... some leftover paranoia from being in Arkham. The last time I got out I nearly stabbed Jim Gordon with a smashed bottle."

Edward doesn't say anything, so Oswald looks up to see him watching Oswald, listening, and when he notices Oswald's hesitation he places a careful hand over his knee and nods.

"...but recently... Edward, sometimes I feel like I'm really losing my mind. I never feel safe." Oswald startles at the small crack in his voice and Edward squeezes his leg. "I don't know what it is... it just always feels like there's something behind me- about to grab me- I don't see it coming and I-"

"Oswald, breathe."

Edward's shifted in his seat, turning so that he can take Oswald's face into both of his hands and wipe away a tear with his thumb. "You're alright. You're safe."

"Why is this happening to me?" Oswald blubbers, aware that his cheeks are now wet. "I don’t understand this... What will Martin think? Ed, he can't-"

"Don't worry. We'll figure this out. There's no need to worry him."

Oswald sniffles, "I feel like I just... I can't be safe. I'm... I’m missing something important here, Edward."

Ed's brow furrows as he rubs his thumb along the underside of Oswald's eye again. Oswald leans into the touch, coming apart at the seams and feeling like it's only Edward's well placed hands holding all the strings together. If he were to let go, Oswald would collapse into a pile of nerves, unable to be put together quite right again.

Edward licks his lips once, a face of complete concentration laced with worry for Oswald. "...Do you feel unsafe with me? Or with Zsasz?"

Oswald clicks his tongue, a little frustrated and not entirely sure why. "It's... it's not that. I understand you both are protectors and it makes it a little better... but.... It's a different _kind_ of safety. I don't really understand it myself. I just know that I don't feel... I don't know, complete? I'm not sure how long I've felt like that, but now that we're discussing it I think I have for some time."

"Do you know when it started?"

Oswald shakes his head, then frowns. "Well... actually, I think after... we had the...” He paused, “the rapist in Arkham. After that I remember feeling unsafe rather frequently. I started sticking close to Jerome and it really helped, but I haven't thought of the incident in some time. It wouldn't still be a fear of that, would it?"

Edward's hands slowly slip down from Oswald's face to his shoulders, squeezing once before one hand drops to cover Oswald's fidgety hands. He breathes in deeply once, through his nose as if steeling himself, and grips Oswald's hand that much tighter. "It sounds like you're suffering from something called transference, Oswald."

He scowls, because that sounds an awful lot like something a therapist might say, and he doesn't like the idea of Edward thinking he's got some kind of... mental disability. Kingpins don't have the time for that. "Edward."

"Transference is when a person becomes dependant on another after being saved from a severe trauma. Sometimes it's mistaken for love or affection, and not that dissimilar to a form of Stockholm syndrome if left alone to develop," he explains, quick to stop Oswald from shutting him down before he can say what needs to be said. "I might even flat out call it Stockholm, but Jerome wasn't your keeper. You were a prisoner at Arkham, and I think being unable to escape the danger on your own terms really made it easy to depend on someone else. I think it gave you a misappropriated idea of safety without you even knowing...."

Oswald tries to pull his hand away, frustrated with the entire idea of this, even more so because it actually makes a world of sense.

It would explain a lot of things, apart from his paranoia. That feeling of incompleteness that always seemed to linger could also lead back to the incident with Jerome. He remembers feeling a little lost whenever they parted for the night to sleep in separate cells, more so if they spent a few hours apart during the day. Possibly the only reason he kept that at bay for so long was sleeping right next to Edward for a time after escaping.

"Jerome was the one that helped you, so you feel like no one else could, even if that's just subconsciously."

Oswald lets out a heavy breath, wet with his crying, and Edward rubs his back soothingly.

"Edward... I can't be like this. _I can't afford_ to be like this."

"You'll be okay, Oswald." Edward assures him, "I would tell you that I'm here, because you know I'll always be here for you, but I won’t because the point is that you don't _need_ someone to protect you, Oswald." He clasps both hands over Oswald's with determination. "You're the Kingpin of Gotham and _notoriously_ hard to kill," he adds with maybe some hint of mirth.

Oswald snorts and lifts his arm to wipe his eyes. "Thank you, Edward."

Edward kisses him.

It's only the second time that Edward has kissed him, if you didn't count the small pecks to his cheek or the flattering press of lips over his hands, and Oswald already feels addicted to it. He loves the feeling, the way Edward almost holds him upright with his tender touches, be it a hand on his cheek or fingers curled over his waist, keeping him from just melting away under it. He's got a bad knee anyway; mix in the way Edward's kisses make his legs positively wobble, and he's really depending on Edward there to keep him from crumbling.

Edward's lips move slow and carefully, like the history between them both has made Oswald seem fragile to him. It feels like Edward wants nothing more than to preserve him. Oswald _adores_ that feeling. He's never had it before, and now it feels as though it’s going to become something he can't live without.

He sighs happily as they pull away, and Oswald wants to tell Ed about Jerome, wants to put all of his faith in Edward just like he does when they kiss. Edward won't let him fall.

"Ed-"

Edward blinks up at him, hand still held firmly in his own. "Yes, Oswald?"

Oswald still can't do it.

He's not entirely sure why, but he can always blame it on wanting to ensure that they all stay safe. Honestly, it's probably because doesn't want to oppose Jerome. Maybe it has something to do with the transference Edward's been talking about, maybe Oswald just doesn't want to lose the only security he knows he has... but the point is that he just can't do it. He can't tell Edward that Jerome is coming here.

Knowing that he’s about to disappoint Edward again makes him sick to his stomach.

He gulps down the words he wanted to say and changes his originally planned lines, "Thank you... for being here for me. I appreciate it more than you know."

Ed smiles, warm and heartfelt before pulling Oswald's hand to his mouth for a kiss. "Always. I've got a lot of wasted time to make up for."

 

* * *

 

Oswald does tell Martin that there are going to be people visiting the manor. He instructs him to stay in his room until it’s over and gives sparse answers to Martin’s curious questions about these mysterious house guests.

Oswald is still grappling with his anxiety when the clock finally ticks over to the designated time of guest arrivals.

He greets Fries, at least a somewhat familiar face, and Oswald is actually Aires if thankful that he’s the first to show. Firefly is next, and Oswald reminds them to play nice with one another. Crane and Tetch arrive together, oddly close in Oswald’s opinion, but Crane glares at him through the crudely cut holes of his bag, so Oswald doesn’t comment.

Jerome is the last of them to arrive— and with a flourish, ever a man with a flare for the dramatics. He catches Oswald in the hall before Oswald can usher him into the dining room. The moment he’d stepped through the threshold and into Oswald’s home, Jerome eyes had glued onto Oswald, hungrily raking up and down his form before grinning.

Oswald feels a familiar sense of need settle in his bones, the command that he be close, that he hide behind Jerome from all the dangers of the world. He recognizes the urge immediately for what it is, what Ed had called it; it’s nothing more than a transference.

“Lookin’ good, babe,” are Jerome’s first words to Oswald since their parting at Arkham, and it’s so startlingly on point that Oswald finds himself sniggering.

He smiles a little in spite of himself. “I like your tie.”

_It’s an awful tie._

Jerome snorts, stalks closer and ducks his head to plant a quick, firm kiss over his lips. It’s surprising... though Oswald really _should_ have expected it. The coarse skin of Jerome’s mauled lips is a far cry from Edward’s soft and sure ones. Even remembering what they felt like, Oswald can’t help but draw the comparisons, the memory of Jerome’s mouth freshly renewed in his mind.

The second that Ed comes back into mind Oswald reels, pushing lightly at Jerome’s shoulders. It feels unfaithful to let Jerome be so near to him, which is… something to ponder in itself. Oswald is running on the adrenaline of his anxiety, three cups of coffee, and a restless night’s sleep. His feelings are all over the place, and The Riddler’s gravely voice rings in the back of his head like a taunt.

 _“You will always fail, Oswald, because you will always let your base emotions drive you._ ”

Oswald pushes a little harder.

Jerome draws back with a giggle, flashing his teeth at Oswald before jerking his head towards the other end of the hall. “Shall we?”

Oswald nods once, and proceeds to lead him down to the dining room, where the rest of the guests have already taken their seats.

 

* * *

 

He’s not exactly as Oswald remembers, but it’s been a while since he’s seen Jerome in person. The brunch begins a little awkwardly. Jerome addresses the guests like the showman that he is, and Oswald is left to stew in a pot of self-pitying misery across the table.

 _He’s with Edward_ , Oswakd reminds himself, and no matter what his body is demanding of him, Jerome isn’t the wall of protection that he needs. He can’t sacrifice everything he’s built for a false sense of security. Oswald _does not_ need a protector.

"Mr. Oswald," Jerome says, and the name feels almost like a mockery after so many variations of a nickname Jerome has given him, but he's glad Jerome isn't referring to him by things like ‘baby’ or ‘Ozzie’ around the other criminals, "thank you for doing your part in hosting today."

Oswald graciously nods his head, but his voice is a little stiff and without any real inclination, "Of course. Anything for an old friend."

Jerome grins and opens his mouth to say something else when the door creaks open behind them. Jerome stares at the newcomer with a raised eyebrow. Oswald turns his head, wondering if there's another surprise guest coming to join them, and his heart drops to the floor in seconds.

Martin cautiously steps into the room with his tablet, peeking over at Oswald before curiously glancing at the other guests.

"Martin!" Oswald gapes, "What are you doing here?"

The boy holds up his tablet, pressing the talk feature and announcing to the entire room that, " _Uncle Ed tried to call you. He left a message._ "

Oswald chances another look over at Jerome, wanting to curl into a ball when the other eyebrow raises to join the first.

" _Martin_ ," he says sternly, leaning down and speaking with hushed urgency, "you shouldn't be in here."

"You're not gonna introduce us?" Jerome grins from the other end of the table, waving his fingers at Martin in a childish hello.

Martin waves back, adorable and naive, and Oswald wants to hurry him away and hide him somewhere that none of these heathens will find him. He catches Crane giving Martin a curious look, and immediately dreads the idea that comes to mind, Crane experimenting with him. He knows what Scarecrow's gasses can do. His hand clenches down on Martin's small shoulder.

Jerome gestures for Oswald to do the introductions, and Oswald shakes himself out of that terrifying line of thought.

"This... is Martin. He's my son." he says.

Jerome's eyebrows shoot up like they're about to fly off his face. Oswald's pretty sure he's paying too much attention to that part of Jerome's face, but it's mainly because he can't actually manage to look him in the eye.

"Son?" he balks "When did _that_ happen?"

Oswald rubs the hand that had been tightly holding onto Martin's shoulder down his back. "I officially adopted him about five months ago."

"Ah, is this the 'someone' you couldn't break out of Arkham for?"

Oswald slowly nods, a little upset that Jerome's forced him to talk about his relation to Martin in a room full of people who could easily exploit it. He doesn't like having his weaknesses out on the table for anyone to see. Maybe that's exactly why he did it though. Oswald thinks with some semblance of bitterness that maybe Jerome is making a point to him, that he could have Oswald under his thumb if he wanted, he knows his weaknesses.

Jerome's wide smile shows off the cut corners of his lips as he gestures over to Martin, "Come on over, kiddo! I won't bite."

Oswald tries uselessly to catch Martin by his cardigan before he goes, but he's already stepped too far out of reach and Oswald is left grasping at the air. The distance between his own seat and Jerome's feels like miles as he watches Martin cautiously waltz over to him. Jerome grins, pats his knee once, and assists in lifting Martin up onto his thigh with an excitedly giggly noise.

Oswald tries not to let his concern show on his face. It's too early to really show his hand like that, but he's nervous. He doesn't want to demand that Jerome let Martin leave--well, he does want to, but he couldn't possibly get away with it without putting all his cards on the table. He'll lose.

Jerome's smile stretches even further as he glances over at Oswald, and the wide girth of his mouth has Oswald thinking of the Angelfish all over again.

_He will not let Martin become a Blemish. _

He opens his mouth, but Jerome speaks first.

"So _'Uncle Ed'_ , huh?" he cheerily simpers, his smile filled to the brim with something eerily false as he offers Martin some of the food from his plate. "You talking about Riddle man?"

Martin brightens as he chews on a strawberry, and Oswald tries not to think about how attached to Ed Martin has become as he quickly types something out on his tablet for Jerome. Jerome reads whatever it is he has to say over his shoulder as he types, then stops Martin before he can play it through the speakers so Oswald can hear. Jerome starts cackling, loud and _startlingly_ _mirthless_. It's for show, Oswald realizes, and he feels the hairs on the back of his neck raise with every dramatized croak. Whatever Martin said to him, he hadn't liked it, _but he was pretending_.

For whose benefit, Oswald doesn't know, but he immediately wants to get Martin far _far_ away from Jerome's lap.

"Martin," he says, polite yet stern, and Martin perks up immediately, being the good child that he is. "Why don't you go find Uncle Zsasz? You were _supposed_ to stay with him this afternoon."

Martin starts to make a move to leave, but Jerome's hand forms a fist on the back of his cardigan before he has the chance. Oswald's breath hitches, because this is what he was waiting for. Jerome is going to finally show his hand. "Awwww, he can't stay? We haven't even had desert yet!"

Martin's eyes widen a little as he seemingly starts to grasp the full gravity of the situation he’s walked into; that Jerome isn't _at all_ like Uncle Ed or Uncle Zsasz.

Oswald forces himself to swallow the lump in his throat, fingers curling tight over the round of his cane. "Would you like him present while you discuss your plans for the city?"

Jerome chortles, twirling his free hand in the air beside his head. "C'mon, who's he gonna tell, right?"

His laugh is nervously echoed by a few of the others at the table, but Firefly pipes up tersely, "I don't approve of corrupting children."

With Firefly paving the way, Tetch also twitches in his seat and voices his opinion, "I admit the company of children I _do not_ enjoy, I would also prefer to be rid of the boy."

Oswald doesn't like the way Tetch said it. He makes a point to remember to keep Martin far away from Tetch if there are ever any future deals between them. Though, he might just cut him off completely at this point, just in case. He never really liked Jervis anyway... hypnotists could never _really_ be completely trusted.

"Bah, alright." Jerome huffs, and scoots little Martin off his lap.

He catches him again before he can run to Oswald though, whispering something in his ear, then gives him a pat on the back to go. Oswald feels a breath of relief escape his lungs when Martin makes it to his side. He puts a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Go find Victor and I'll come check on you when we're done."

Martin's eyes flicker questioningly to Victor Fries, sitting at the table, before Oswald huffs, "Uncle Zsasz, Martin."

Martin draws something onto his pad so quickly that it comes out just a little messy in translation, " _Are you safe?_ "

Oswald blinks at the question, and he suddenly realizes that... he really isn't. For the first time since he'd started his... weird relationship with Jerome, Oswald didn’t feel safe with him.

He wasn't about to say this to Martin though, so he shifts his hand to Martin's cheek instead. "I'll be alright, my boy. Now go."

Martin gives him a frown, one last worried glance, then leaves the room.

"Cute kid," Jerome chuckles, fingers steepled together over the table.

Oswald nods once, readjusts to present himself as the very picture of civility and hesitantly replies with a small, "Thank you."

There's a minute twitch in Jerome's left eye, like maybe he's just a little disappointed in Oswald, but he moves on quickly. "So, I bet you're all wondering why I've called together this... _legion of horribles_..." he smirks, gestures over to one of the caterers, "That has a nice ring to it. Write that down, wouldja?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, gosh there's so much to say here. Please do debate with me in the comments. I'm ready for it. I spent a lot of time fretting about both this and the next chapter (since they were initially the same one) and ended up referring to it as "the angst chapter". 
> 
> I am so prepared for the angry comments here. I'm actually really excited for them. XD Even my beta was like "Don't you dare hurt him" when I sent her a little tidbit of Jerome interacting with Martin at the brunch. UGGGHHH
> 
> Please don't kill me? Can't finish the story if I'm dead, just saying.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of sorry in advance. This chapter is bound to make you a little uncomfortable, but that was the idea.
> 
> Bonus! We've got a cover picture now!! :D I spent a few hours working on it and I loved the result. The idea/inspiration hit me at like... 2am and it sucked because I have to work today so I'm running on a little less sleep than I could be... Hopefully it's worth it and you guys enjoy the art and new chapter. :)

 

Oswald finds out that Jerome expects him to host the group  _for a few nights_ at his house, to which Oswald  _insistently_ (yet politely as he could manage) told them it would  _not_ be a possibility. It had taken some convincing, but Oswald told them that the Falcone mansion would be empty after Sofia's parting, they could squat there. He immediately seeks out Martin after the brunch has concluded, the legion has dispersed, and he feels like he can breathe again. He finds both Martin and Victor in Martin's bedroom, Martin looking at a book while Victor cleans his guns. He gives Martin a quick glance over, just to be sure he's still alright, then rounds on Zsasz with anger pouring out of every vein.

" _Where were you?_ Zsasz, I asked you to keep him here with you!"

Zsasz frowns, seemingly ready to take on the brute of Penguin's fit. "One of those... crazy guys was bangin' around in the hallway. I went to take care of him and I  _told_ Martin to stay here. When I came back he was gone."

"One of the inmates?"

Zsasz nods, looking completely chastized, and Oswald sighs before turning to Martin. "Martin... I need you to listen when we tell you to do something, especially right now. There are some bad people that will be loitering around. You could have been hurt-"

Martin's tablet speaks for him, " _Uncle Ed tried to call, it was important_."

"Your safety is, _by far_ , more important than a phone call, Martin." He pinches the bridge of his nose, then looks up at Zsasz. "Jerome-"

"Boss, I could kill that crazy little bastard, bullet right to the head if you let me."

Oswald shakes his head. "Valeska has a knack for coming back from the dead. Besides that, he..." Oswald trails off. "There's a history there. I owe him."

Zsasz looks at him curiously for a moment, then sighs with frustration, "Fine."

"Please, just keep a close eye on Martin for me these next few days. Make it your number one priority. I don't need you to follow me as long as I know you're taking care of him."

Zsasz snorts, says, "I'm not  _actually_ a babysitter, boss," but nods his head anyway with a playful scoff.

Oswald knew he would agree. Even if he might not explicitly admit it, Zsasz cares about Martin almost as much as he and Edward do.

_Edward._

Oh, he's going to be so disappointed with Oswald. He gives Martin a kiss on the forehead, reminds Zsasz not to let Martin out of his sight again, and heads to his study to return Edward's call, not eager to talk about Jerome in front of Martin. Zsasz either, really.

Martin gives him a wary look as he starts to go, but Oswald doesn't stick around to ask about it.

As he hobbles from one room to the other, Oswald wonders how he's going to break the news... to Edward _and_ to Zsasz. He hadn't even told  _Zsasz_ the full extent of it all, like his somewhat unwilling alliance with Jerome is some dirty little secret _._ Jerome has recruited him into a little legion of crazies and he plans to 'paint the town crazy'. Just _how_ he plans to do that remains a mystery to the entire rest of the group. "Further instructions to come," he'd said--though, with a little more flare and show than Oswald's mind supplied.

Oswald hadn't been able to say no. Whether it was fear of the group, Jerome's reaction, or the fact that Martin was waiting in the other room and would be in danger, he was unsure, but Oswald certainly hadn't felt like he'd had much of a choice. He's been roped into it and it's too late to back out now.

He's angry with Jerome. Not only for dragging him into a venture he'd rather not be a part of, but that he'd used Martin like that. He'd put Oswald in a position to be terrified for Martin's sake, and that was unacceptable on more levels than he could count. He's angry, but not stupid enough to voice that. Who knew how Jerome would react?

He enters his office with a huff, spins on his heel to shut the doors, intending to lock them, when he hears a cough from near his desk.

Oswald yips, turns so fast he might have given himself whiplash, and stares at Jerome, sitting in Oswald's oversized chair, feet up and grinning. "I was beginning to think you weren't gonna show."

"Jerome." he says tersely.

Jerome frowns, "You've been real tense all day, did you know that?" his smirk returns a moment later, and Oswald can see its devious intent, "Stress of parenthood gotcha down?"

Oswald glares at him. "I want you to leave Martin out of this. Please, I can't have him put in harm's way."

"I'm not gonna hurt your kid," he interrupts, still frowning at Oswald. "Will ya stop looking at me like I kicked your dog? Jeez."

Oswald lets out a breath of air, a little of the tension in his shoulders releasing with Jerome's assurance that no harm would come to his boy.

"I think you should be careful... with whatever it is you've got planned, Jerome," he says stiffly, eager to press on, "I can't see it ending well for anyone. Especially for you."

Jerome eyes him for a moment, quiet, then breaks out into a giggle. "That almost sounds like you care, Ozzie."

Oswald frowns, "I'd rather not see you fail. I'll admit that."

"Yeah?" Jerome pushes up from the chair, side stepping around the desk to walk the few steps over to Oswald, leaning his hip against the wood as he smiles at him. "Anything else ya feel like admitting?"

Oswald blinks, admittedly a little startled by Jerome's prowling approach.

"...no?" he says, flusteredly confused.

Jerome grins faintly, but it's another humorless gesture, as he slides forward into Oswald's personal space. "I'll let you in on a little secret, Ozzie, just because it's you."

Oswald doesn't comment on the invasion of his bubble, but he does try to turn his body away to face the door instead of Jerome.

But Jerome is too quick. He rounds himself back into Oswald's line of vision, consequentially trapping him between the desk and Jerome's broad chest as he does so.

Jerome's grin widens. "There's a much bigger picture I'm workin' with here. I'm not really banking on my plan either. This whole… paintin' the town crazy, it's… a distraction, we'll say. Leading up to the main event. Good ol' Jimbo's gotta have something to keep him busy. Bastard's  _always_ putting raisins in my cookies  _just_ before they can get into the oven."

Oswald frowns, "You already know you're going to fail? But you're still going to-"

"Taking the city isn't the point," he chuckles, and has just a moment where he looks almost remorseful, peering into Oswald's eyes, but he waves it off with a crack of his neck. "But let's talk about something else."

"Like what?"

"Like this stupidly feathery coat, for instance." Jerome grins, and tugs on the fluffy lapels. "Really makes you look like a bird."

Oswald tilts his chin down, a little to the side. "It was a gift," he says, and stupidly adds, "from Edward." before he can think better of it.

Jerome's eye twitches again. "In _that_ case I think I'd like to take it off."

Oswald opens his mouth to complain but Jerome is already slipping the coat off of his shoulders, shoving it down his arms and onto the desk, pressing Oswald's thighs against the edge in the process.

"Kinda curious, why'd you wear that  _today_? You knew I was coming..." and Oswald can't help the little whimper that comes up from his throat when Jerome's mouth finds his neck, hands gripping his hips to tug him closer. "Unless you were  _trying_ to make me jealous, in which case, I can only assume you were looking for some hot, dirty, just a  _liiiiitle_ bit angry sex."

A strangled noise creeps out of Oswald's mouth before he can force it back down. "Jerome, we can't-"

"Because of riddle man," Jerone scoffs, intentionally playful but coming across dark and loathing.

"His name is The Riddler," Oswald says, frowning. "He's very sensitive about that."

Jerome snorts, "Ozzie, baby, I don't give a flying hoot. Actually... I think I like it better if it pisses him off."

Jerome's fingers have Oswald's vest unbuttoned before Oswald even realizes, and slip under the hem of his pants to untuck his shirt before Oswald can start to protest. " _Jerome_ , I said-"

"You didn't mind in Arkham." Jerome huffs, brows furrowed into an almost glare as he looks up at Oswald. "Why is this different?"

"Because my eleven-year-old is four doors down the hall and- and  _Edward_ -"

"So it  _is_ riddle man."

"No, it's-" Jerome rips his shirt open, and Oswald gasps, "Do you know how  _expensive—_ Jerome!"

Jerome's mouth latches onto Oswald's neck and he  _bites_.

It's painful. Oswald remembers the few times Jerome had marked up his neck in Arkham before, how the pain had accentuated strong bouts of pleasure at the time. Now it made him feel hollow. The pain stung in a way it hadn't before, like the skin was catching wrong… Jerome was  _biting_ wrong. It was all just… somehow  _wrong_.

It was still Jerome and it was still Oswald. What they were doing wasn't any different… but Oswald…. He  _feels_ different about it.

Jerome slips his fingers into Oswald's belt loops before tugging them down in a harsh jerk.

The air in the room is cold against his skin and makes him shiver. Oswald tries to move closer to Jerome for the warmth his body could provide, but Jerome whips him around, bends him over the desk, and starts dragging his teeth down the skin of Oswald's back before he gets the chance.

Oswald squirms. It feels good, on some level; he's not exactly  _un_ interested in the proceedings, but Oswald can't push past the longing he suddenly feels to be kissed.

Softly.

He thinks of Edward's lips on his own, careful and slow, how much of a contrast that was to Jerome and his harsh slams of teeth.

Jerome hasn't even given Oswald the courtesy of his fingers before the solid heat of Jerome's cock presses against him.

Oswald jolts, and Jerome leans over to whisper into his ear with a snake-like coo, angry and coarse.

"Has he fucked you yet?"

The words are like a bucket of ice-cold water raining down on Oswald, and the sudden reality of where they are and what they're doing slaps him hard across the face.

He's not in Arkham anymore.

Oswald doesn't owe Jerome.

He doesn't  _need_ him to feel safe.

 _Oswald is alright on his own_.

Letting this go any further would jeopardize everything that Oswald has been working so hard to rebuild. Even apart from the fact that this would be yet another betrayal towards Edward, if he falls back into these same steps, Oswald will lose all of his progress. He'll be right back to the paranoid mess he'd become as soon as Jerome is gone again.

 _Transference,_ his brain supplies.

Oswald steels himself and his grip on Jerome's shoulders, and resolutely pushes him away.

"It's not Edward." Oswald says firmly, "It's  _me_ telling you very plainly to  _stop_ , Jerome."

Jerome scoffs, squeezes Oswald's cock in his hand with more force than is strictly necessary to prove his point. " _This_ isn't what I'd call 'plainly', Oz. You want it. Why are you saying no?"

Oswald stares up at him with determination. "Are you going to force me, Jerome?"

Jerome's lips press into a thin, annoyed line. "Of course not," he snaps, glaring at Oswald, "I told you I'm not into that shit."

"Then  _please_ , Jerome, just-"

The door to the office swings open, and in rushes an anxious looking Ed. "Oswald-!" he starts, but falls dead in his tracks once he sees their rather promiscuous situation.

Oswald eagerly pushes Jerome back, spinning around to take up his coat and wrap it around himself like a shield. "Edward. Jerome was just leaving." He lifts his head with startled realization. "I came in here to return your call. I was just about to-"

"Martin texted me. He said you were in trouble... said there was a  _'bad man'_ threatening you," Edward offers, his startled gape morphing into an insulted frown. "I see that he meant Jerome got in contact with you."

"I was going to tell you, Ed-"

"Bad man?" Jerome huffs, interrupting Oswald and raising a hand over his chest in mock offence, "And here I thought the kid and I were getting along like a house on fire." He smirks, "Which is pretty fun if you've never seen it before."

Edward bristles at the mention of Martin and glares at Jerome outright. "What are you doing here, Jerome?"

He chuckles, "You'd think  _that_ was obvious." and mozies up closer to Oswald, who becomes once again trapped against the desk, face going stark red in embarrassment. "I'm gettin' back my Ozzie bird. Can't find a lot of penguins in Gotham City ya know, kind of a rare species around here. I can't afford to let this one slip away."

"Get a cat." Edward bites out, and Jerome laughs.

”That’s funny.”

He pulls away from Oswald slowly, hands still on his hips for the majority of the move, before finally releasing him altogether to zip up his pants, staring Edward down with the _cockiest_ of grins as he does it.

"But they don't fit so well in birdcages," Jerome giggles, "Besides, I'm probably more of a dog person anyway."

Oswald tries to keep his head high as the wall of heat leaves him feeling cold and naked, hiding under his coat with Edward's assessing glare raking over every bit of him.

"Thanks for the brunch." Jerome says offhandedly as he's leaving, winking over his shoulder at Oswald in a way that couldn't possibly have _not_ tipped off Ed, "Be seein' ya real soon."

He stops just before reaching the door, almost shoulder to shoulder with Edward, smile dropped in a flash, and keeps his eyes dead ahead as he mutters, "Hands off my things, Riddle man."

"He doesn't  _belong_ to you, Jerome." he sneers back, eyes icy and stare hard as stone.

"Aaaaaaaand that's your way of sayin' you  _still_ haven't hit that yet." He chuckles, "You had half a fuckin' year and you  _still_ couldn't get into his pants? I've been here for like, three hours." He smirks, pivots around and shoots finger guns at Oswald with a cheery, "Later, babes!" before walking backward out the door.

Edward's fists are clenched at his sides and he lets out a sharp, angry breath before coming over to Oswald, who's wrapped himself up even tighter in the oversized coat, overwhelmed with humiliation and embarrassment.

"Are you alright?" he asks, tight and curt, looking over what skin he can see to check for any damage.

He doesn't ask Oswald to move his coat out of the way to look further.

"Yes... Yes, of course. I'm... I'm fine, Ed, he didn't-"

"Okay." Edward says before he can give any detail.

Ed looks mad. His fists are still in tight balls whenever they're not touching Oswald to look him over, and he's glaring at Oswald's sock-clad feet with no small amount of disdain. Jerome had stepped on the backs of his shoes to pull him out of them earlier. Oswald feels so naked like this, in nothing more than his socks, hates himself for it, hates that he's been left this vulnerable. He's worried about how Ed will react. About Jerome being here, about the brunch, about what Edward had almost walked in on... Most importantly, Oswald not having called him immediately like he promised to.

Edward is silent for a while, and Oswald knows he's just taking a moment to think through his response. He remembers seeing this before, when Ed had been accosted with vicious media inquiries during the election and he'd needed a moment to compose himself. He'd almost punched a reporter that day.

Oswald hates that he's the cause of it this time.

"Oswald." Edward says seriously, brows knit together as he looks at him.

He gulps nervously.

"Oswald, I already told you that I plan to rekindle things between us... but I need to be able to trust you, and I need you to trust _me_ if that's going to be a possibility."

The kingpin opens his mouth to reply, but Edward holds up a hand between them, "You had brunch with him?"

"He- it's... it's complicated."

Ed frowns, "And Martin?"

"In his room... I've instructed Zsasz to make Martin his sole priority until this..." he waves a hand in front of them, "whole thing is cleared up."

"And by that you mean, once Jerome's been arrested again?"

Oswald inhales sharply, but nods, hanging his head in shame.

"So you're not scheming with him?" Edward asks, almost hesitant, "I know he's got something planned, it's  _Jerome_ , but Oswald... whatever it is, it can't be good."

"He called a meeting of a bunch of people... that was what the brunch was. Edward, I swear it wasn't my idea to have it here. I got an invitation-"

"How long have you known he was coming?" Edward asks carefully, stiff as a board, like he's trying to wrangle in his rage.

Oswald tries to curl in on himself, tugging the coat tighter around his shoulders in the process, "I got the invitation on Monday."

Edward does the math, and his knuckles go white, "So the night that I was talking to you about telling me when things happen...  _when you promised you'd tell me_ , did you know then that you were going to lie to me?"

"Ed, I-"

"Oswald,  _did you know?_ "

Oswald's eyes are wet and his chest positively aches. Edward is looking at him the same way he'd looked at him after Isabella. He's angry, hurt... and betrayed all over again.

"There wasn't anything we could have done to keep him out of the house. I didn't want to risk anyone getting hurt-"

"But you still could have told me. I could have been here to make sure you weren't alone." he glares harshly, "Did you  _want_ to be alone with him? Was that the point?"

"Ed, no, I-"

"Did you miss getting fucked in Arkham so badly that you just couldn't wait? You had a fucking _boner_ , Oswald,  _I saw it_."

The words are like venom as they reach Oswald, piercing his flesh just over the heart, in for the kill. He knew he'd upset Edward, knew it wouldn't be pretty, but Ed had been so sweet and gentle as they'd been rebuilding their relationship that he almost forgot how he tended to lash out when angry.

Maybe part of him _is_ impatient, he and Ed have been dancing around each other for ages now and have never taken it any further than a few kisses here and there. Maybe he feels a little unwanted or unattractive. It had felt good to be touched like he was irresistible again. He'd always enjoyed the feeling of want that came from Jerome, after all. Maybe he had wanted it all along and just didn't know he was missing it so much.

But none of those things really matter, he doesn't feel ignored as much as he feels cherished by Edward, and he's acting purely on the instinct to fight pain with more pain as he violently spits back, "Well I don't see you rushing to sleep with me. For all your talk about _'rekindling'_ you hardly touch me! How would I know if you  _ever_ planned to do anything else?"

Edward blinks, eyes widening with surprise, and Oswald quickly backtracks.

He doesn't  _really_ feel that way. He loves Edward's light touches, enjoys that he takes things slow and treats Oswald like a precious treasure to be doted upon. He shakes his head furiously and tries to fix what he just broke, "I mean-"

"I was trying to be respectful of you." Edward bites, "You were working through things and I..." he glares, then stalks forward in three mighty steps and corrals Oswald back against the desk again, "Do you  _want_ me to be forward then?"

Oswald's breath eludes him, "Edward, I..."

Ed leans over to kiss him, and Oswald is already breathless enough without having the air punched out of him like this. This kiss is rougher than any of the others that Edward has given him. It packs more of a punch; needy and desperate. It's commanding in a way, and Oswald can't help but feel like it's almost out of place on him. He knows Edward's doing this differently because he's angry, but it doesn't stop him from moaning when Edward lifts him up onto the desk, slipping in between his parted thighs as his hands slide beneath the coat and around Oswald's naked torso.

"I was jealous every time I saw you with him in Arkham." Edward growls out, abandoning Oswald's lips to trail a line down his jaw. "It was fine when it was just you and me, but then he came back. You  _let him_ come back," Edward spat out, "and he was all over you."

Oswald whimpers and tries to regain his composure somewhat, but as he attempts to move back to talk some sense into him, Edward pushes Oswald down until his back collides with the desk. A shielding hand on the back of his head kept it from crashing into the surface however, and Oswald focuses on that small gesture of kindness. Edward might be angry, but he wouldn't intentionally harm Oswald in any way.

That counted for something.

"Ed, I need you to let me talk-"

"No." Edward glares, "You'll lie to me again. You always lie, Oswald."

Oswald makes a strangled noise, clinging onto the back of Edward's shirt as one of his hands wrap around Oswald's erection. " _Oh, please, Ed-_ "

Edward hums with approval and pulls his head back to see a mark over Oswald's neck that's still red, too wide to be from his own mouth. He glares at it like it's personally offended him, "I can't stand the fact that he undressed you, Oswald. The he got to touch you for  _months_ in Arkham.  _That you let him because you didn't feel safe without him_. It makes me so angry."

"Ed..." Oswald groans, and tips his head to the side, Edward's mouth slotting over the little red marks that Jerome had left to replace them.

He bites down hard, attempting to make them deeper, to surpass however deep Jerome's teeth had sunk in, and Oswald wails.

"I don't want to share you with him." he barks out against the mark, lips grazing over the tender flesh with every word, " _He can't have you, Oswald_."

Oswald cums with a startle, embarrassingly fast, and he only gets a short moment to enjoy it before he's sputtering apologies, "Oh my god... Ed, I... I'm sorry-"

Edward drops to a crouch and insistently spreads Oswald's thighs, using his mouth to lick up all of the mess and Oswald can't believe it, jaw dropping open in shock. He's moaning loudly and has to bite down on his fist because Edward is  _swallowing down his soft cock_ , worshiping Oswald like he's been given such a privilege just to be able to lap up the remnants of his orgasm.

"Ed..." he gasps, "Edward you have to stop... It's too sensitive-" he groans, Edward's tongue licking lower, twirling around his hole, trying to go in, "Edward stop!"

Ed freezes.

He withdraws quickly but is slow to stand, arms floating around at his sides, unsure if he's still allowed to touch Oswald as he waits for Oswald's explanation or maybe even his rage. Oswald is quiet for far too long though, panting, trying to catch his breath enough to make real words, and Edward starts to pull back, looking utterly ashamed, "Oswald, I'm sorry, I-"

"No!" Oswald blurts out, and sits up on an elbow before he finally forces out the rest, "It's not...  _I want to_ , I just haven't... I haven't _ever_..."

Edward's eyes widen almost comically and his hands finally rest over the top of Oswald's legs, reassured, "...You and Jerome never?"

Oswald shakes his head, wanting nothing more than to let the floor swallow him up, wholly embarrassed to be confessing this  _now_ of all times. "We did things, but never  _that_. I've never gone that far with anyone."

Edward looks like he's kicking himself as he leans forward slowly to place a gentle kiss on Oswald's forehead, "Oh, Oswald, I'm so sorry. I was angry and hurt... but I know that's not a good excuse..."

"Don't be, Ed. I... enjoyed that. Very much actually. I mean, if it wasn't apparent enough from  _my reaction…_ The circumstances weren't ideal, but I still… I want that. With you. Sometime."

Edward smiles, kisses him again, this time on the lips. The kiss is long enough that Oswald feels he should be reciprocating and nervously reaches for his pants. He wants to make Edward feel just as good as he did, the eagerness to please him born over a year ago, when he'd first fallen for him, still driving his actions. Edward catches his hand, and shakes his head, "Not right now. I couldn't let you do that for me after practically forcing myself on you."

Oswald huffs, "It wasforce _ful_ , but not forcing. I might have preferred a different context to the first time you saw me naked... but I still enjoyed it, and... I want you to as well."

Edward smiles lightly, and kisses the hand he's caught, "If you still want to another time, I'll take you up on that. But right now, I really want to get you redressed."

"What a terribly unsexy thing to say." Oswald snorts, a little amused.

Ed leans over him like a blanket, shielding him from the outside world, "I keep thinking about him undressing you. I want to keep putting layers onto you until I lose the urge to kill something."

Oswald lifts his hands to card through Edward's hair. "I'm sorry. I let it go too far..."

"I did mean it, Oswald." he says, lazily nuzzling at his glowing bite mark on Oswald's neck, "For as long as you want me, I'm going to be right here. He can't have you."

Oswald feels awful about getting so caught up with Jerome; about hurting Edward yet again because he'd let himself be ruled by his emotions. Jerome was never shy about paying Oswald any attention. He'd shown Oswald that he was capable of being attractive to someone. It had boosted his confidence somewhat.

From the start Oswald could plainly tell that Jerome liked him, and while he's definitely eternally grateful for Jerome and everything he's done for him... Edward definitely means more.

Edward was the first to believe in him. They'd built up their lives around one another more than once, and Oswald was looking to make this time permanent. The Penguin had a massive part in building The Riddler, and The Riddler was the guiding hand in reviving The Penguin. Oswald had learned that he was capable of love because of Edward, and Edward had come to accept that he wasn't a freak thanks to Oswald.

They were intertwined in so many ways, unable to ever fully detangle from one another's lives.

Oswald didn't  _want_ to.

Jerome wasn't invalid to Oswald, but he wasn't  _Edward_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lay it on me. Give me your anger/hurt.  
> 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks again to my beta, Kaitie1369, for hunkering down with me to bang out these chapters before the end of the month! We've worked hard on this story and I'm so thankful for her help, fun commentary and English-Major-insight. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuffed full of _everything_ here, ladies and gents. Plot, two art pieces, lots of notes at the end... ugh. I'm sorry.  
>  I was honestly going to wait and put one of the two art pieces at the beginning of the next chapter but then I couldn't figure out who would have to wait and kinda just ended up putting both here... I'll probably change where all the art is down the line... but for now, there you go.

 

 

 

Edward hasn't left the house since the brunch, a few days previous. Oswald doesn't even need to ask to know it's because of Jerome, Oswald's not-so-platonic history with him, and the way that Martin had ended up exposed to all of the legion of horribles because of his frivolity. Oswald is honestly just thankful that someone like Barbara Kean or, God forbid, _Tabitha and Butch_ , hadn't been present. They were the types who would purposefully set out to use the information against him.

Jerome's group consisted of Gotham's noteably insane and distorted, rather than the political criminals. It might be the only time Oswald was thankful of that. It was the power-hungry ones that liked to sit on information and make you stew in your own nervousness. At least he didn't need to fear the rest of Jerome's 'Legion of Horribles' until one of them actually needed something from him. One or two of them might even forget about it completely before that day came.

Oswald resolved to teach Martin some sort of self defence though, just in case... perhaps like how the Wayne boy had his butler teaching him in their free time. It had saved his life on more than one occasion, Oswald had heard, and his adventures were whispered about among the more austere Gothamites. Some shared stories in awe while others muttered with trepidation.

As little as he'd like to have Martin brought up public gossip (you never knew who was listening), Oswald might not mind so much if those whispers happened to come with a 'don't-fuck-with-this-guy' reputation to accompany them.

And apparently... Oswald isn't the only one who thinks that preparing Martin for the worst is a good idea.

Oswald walks into the sitting room one evening to find Edward showing Martin how to shoot a gun. There are empty soda cans lined up along an old, thin, and tall sofa table. Oswald will chide Zsasz for supplying Martin with soda so late in the evening again later. As Martin mimics the pose that Edward shows him, Zsasz is sitting on the edge of the couch, watching as he polishes his own little arsenal. He says something now and then, but mostly seems like an irked observer rather than a teacher.

The scene briefly reminds him of the time he'd taught Martin about the proper way to gut an enemy.

_"Upward, Martin. That way you drive the blade under the ribs and through the heart."_

He smiles as he remembers it. It had been almost uncanny how much promise Martin had shown early on. Oswald wonders what would have become of them both if he'd never spotted Martin about to set fire to those bullies' backpacks. Or if the little window he'd opened to shout through had been locked. If Sofia hadn't planned for him to become enamored with one of her orphans….

"What are you doing?" he asks casually as he enters the room.

Zsasz looks up from the couch and huffs, "Showing Martin the _wrong_ way to hold a gun."

"There's no _right_ way to hold it, Zsasz. Just because you prefer to keep your arm straight out doesn't mean he can't hold his at his side," Edward scoffs.

Oswald smirks as he looks between them. "And you've been showing him the correct stance right? Accounting for his size and weight?" Oswald asks, and both men look at him curiously. Oswald lifts a hand in exasperation. "Well you've got to account for the kickback, _obviously_. He'll have to lean forward into it."

Oswald turns to Zsasz accusingly. "How did you not think of that?"

"I don't really see kids or adults... they're just like... tiny humans." He shrugs, "Didn't really think about it."

"So when you see someone with dwarfism?"

Zsasz blinks, Oswald would almost think he was mocking Ed, but the look of surprise is too genuine. "Wait, dwarves are real?"

"Oh my God, you are so weird," Edward says, shaking his head with vexation.

Zsasz purposefully snaps the clip into his gun, as he stares him down. "You dress like a leprechaun and call yourself _The Riddler_. Pot, kettle dude. And _you_ didn't think of it either."

" _I'm_ not a gun expert."

"Which is why you should listen to me when I tell you he's holding it wrong."

Oswald struts a little further into the room, smiling at Martin as they watch the two men bicker. "Boys, you're both pretty. Let's move along."

Edward hums and Victor scoffs, mumbling down at his guns. "I'm definitely prettier."

Martin's wide smile shows off the few gaps between the teeth further back. It's a laughing smile, and Oswald would very much love to one day be able to hear to him laugh, but seeing it is still enough to warm his icy heart. He puts a hand over Martin's shoulder. "Try it again, but lean forward and see if you prefer your arms straight out instead of tucked in."

Martin holds his arms out straight, shuts one eye to focus on the target, leans a little forward, and-

He misses.

But he doesn't fly back with the kick, and the pot that smashes at the mercy of Martin's bullets was one of his stepmother's favorites, so Oswald counts it as a win all in all.

"Good job." He smiles, "We can have Victor help you practice with your aim."

Martin smiles up proudly at him, leaning into Oswald's little ruffle of his hair before redirecting his cheery simper towards Zsasz and Edward. Edward nods at him approvingly. Zsasz holds two thumbs up beside his wide, toothy grin.

They practice a little more before Oswald decides it's time for Martin to get himself ready for bed. He protests for a minute or two, but yawns right in the middle of explaining how very _not_ tired he his. But before Oswald can usher him up to his room, Zsasz hands Martin a small box, wrapped in a shimmering purple paper with a silky black bow to top it off. It's very pretty, and Oswald raises a curious brow at him to mirror Martin's.

Oswald doesn't get a chance to ask any questions before Martin is pressing the button on his pad, an inquisitive, _"Did you wrap this?"_ coming through the speakers.

Oswald hadn't even thought about that, but he stares at the tight paper now, realizing the time it must have taken to get it to look so perfect. He imagines Zsasz, carefully trying to get the edges straight and almost wants to chuckle.

Zsasz doesn't say anything, but he ducks his head and rubs the back on his neck with a hand.

Edward snuffs behind them, coming up to the little exchange and encouraging Martin to unwrap it.

The boy tears into the paper excitedly, slipping off the ribbon and revealing a lidded box. He pulls open the top, and there's a collective parting of lips around the room.

"You got him a gun?" Oswald asks as Martin drawns the tiny handgun out of its box.

Zsasz puffs out his chest proudly at Martin's excited look. "Beretta Pico .380," he says, "It's the smallest pistol on the market. It's got an adjustable sight too, just in case. There's a holster in there as well. I got one for your lower leg though, so you won't be able to hide this if you're wearing shorts."

Oswald grins, "I've been meaning to convert him to sensible slacks anyway." He nudges Martin, "It's a very nice gift, say thank you, Martin."

The boy doesn't pull up his pad. Instead he passes the box to Oswald and rushes forward to hug Zsasz around the middle. The assassin freezes for a moment, blinks, then hesitantly returns the gesture with a grin. _Uncle_ Zsasz is just as taken in as the rest of them.

"Thank you, Victor," Oswald smiles gratefully, "This may come in handy soon. Gotham isn't too safe these days."

Zsasz nods almost dutifully at Oswald, pulling back and grinning down at Martin as the boy thanks him in sign language.

"Alright, Martin," he starts fondly, and nudges him again before handing back his present, "it's time for bed. Say goodnight to everyone."

 

* * *

 

Oswald is picked up the next night for what Jerome calls a "field trip". Oswald calls it a hassle. Apart from being dragged along in a van with the rest of Jerome's scooby gang, there's the unpleasant business of kidnapping political officials and shoving them into the back of a meat truck. They're chained up on hooks like slabs of meat, waiting for slaughter.

When the interim mayor starts to bribe them, Oswald isn't surprised to hear the grumbled, off-handed rejections of his fellow legion members. He is, however, a little unnerved to see them all pause and turn to Oswald curiously when the man finally gets around to extending his offer to Oswald.

Jerome lifts his head, raising an eyebrow at him and there's really nothing else Oswald can say besides, "I'm with Jerome completely."

Jerome cackles, wraps an arm around Oswald and plants a sloppy kiss on his temple, "See, Ozzie here knows how to have a good time!"

The gas is tested on the poor girl with no real title; who didn't make for a good enough hostage. The sickly discoloration and distorted curvature of her smile unnerves Oswald far more than the cackling laughter does. Jerome has got tankards of this stuff stored away for something big, and Oswald can't imagine anything other than destruction as he contemplates just what it might be. Douse the corrupt? The public officials? The entire city?

When he thinks about Martin, turned pale, bleeding from the eyes and mouth stretch into an eerie smile, he wants to vomit. It’s not entirely unlike when he felt like hurling in Arkham after seeing the carnage in the rapist’s wake. Jerome's scrutinizing eyes keeping a consistent hawk-like lock on him are probably the only things that keep him from it, realizing he's under a watchful gaze. Deadly.

Oswald smiles at him, but it's a tight and forced thing. He suddenly feels very unnerved standing this close to a man that could very well kill him if he _even for a second_ doubted Oswald's loyalty. The months worth of trust that had been built up inside of Arkham seem distant and underdeveloped in comparison to this new fear. Oswald's stomach does flips and his heart pounds violently in his chest, a far cry different from the way it had pleasantly thrummed before when Jerome paid him any attention. He's riddled with anxiety and helplessness.

Oswald hates it.

Martin envelops him in a full body hug when he finally returns. Oswald absolutely despises the way worry looks on Martin's infant face. It's supposed to be _his_ job to worry, not his boy's. He shouldn't look ready to burst into tears over Oswald like this...

Oswald won't stand for it. He made a promise to himself the night he'd gotten Martin back. He came first, above everything and any _one_ else.

 

* * *

 

Oswald's first move is to contact Jim Gordon. It's a difficult thing to bring himself to do, knowing how much Jim loathes him overall, but it's the best he can really do. Lord knows the rest of the G.C.P.D. was filled with simple cops who were never above a bribe. Jim was one of the few good ones. Oswald could trust him, even if he didn't trust Oswald.

He reaches him through text.

**_We need to talk. Come out back. Alone._ **

It's simple, but it does the trick.

Oswald realizes as he sends it off that he's looking over his shoulder while he writes. It's simultaneously the worst realization in the world and the best wake-up call ever. It's the last kick in the ass to move him forward, out of whatever he felt before and into the future he's been working so hard to build.

Jim finds him quickly. He looks pissed, irritated at best, but he stays silent while Oswald tells him what he knows.

Which, truthfully, isn't all that much.

"We all have a separate task at hand," he says, and Jim uncrosses his arms for only a moment to lift them in a gesture of _'and?'_

"Like?" he asks to accompany the move.

"He... hasn't given me my task yet," Oswald admits, maybe somewhat sheepish.

Jim growls, gruff and frustrated, "Why did you come here if you have nothing to give me?"

Oswald hesitates, "He..." he shakes his head in his decisiveness, annoyed with himself for how wish-washy he's being over this, he is afraid, that's the fact of it, no matter how his relationship with Jerome _used_ to be. "He scares the living hell out of me," he finally says, tinged with hastey bitterness.

Not long ago, he'd thought of Jerome as a protector. Now he found himself struggling with coming to accept him as the real threat that he was. Oswald curses himself, his overbearing heart, how he lets himself be willed by his emotions. If he has any hope of doing the right thing here, he needs to just push past what his _heart_ tells him and listen to what his _head_ is saying instead.

It hurts, but he can do it.

He's gone through losing people plenty of times before. What's just one more?

Oswald lifts his chin, stares Jim dead in the eyes.

"Where is he," Jim continues, "where's the toxin?"

"I don't know where the toxin is. He only tells you what he needs to when he needs you."

Jim scoffs, "Well it sounds like he certainly doesn't _need_ _you_ , Oswald."

Oswald scowls, "He-" he stops himself, wondering just what he was planning to say there. Jerome _didn't_ need him, it was true. He never really did, and here it seemed... maybe Jerome was just pulling him along because he could. "You're right," he agrees, helplessly, "He doesn't need me."

Jim cocks a brow at him, crossing his arms again and looking awkward, "You're being oddly agreeable."

"I'm operating with the wellbeing of my boy in the forefront of my mind," he says in reply, eyes narrowing.

Jim's brow loses its tone of accusation in an instant, replaced with an almost soft look of consideration, "The orphan that Sofia said you killed. Martin, right?"

"He's officially Martin Cobblepot now. I signed the paperwork and everything."

"Congratulations," Jim says.

Oswald huffs, feeling suddenly very tired. "Thank you."

Bullock's thundering voice startles the two of them out of the cool silence that follows, and Oswald turns to duck out the back door while Jim stalls his partner.

 

* * *

 

Oswald doesn't want to disappear again, but he's not stupid enough to ignore Jerome's requests when he's called. He at least gets the chance to let Martin know he'll be stepping out this time. He gives his boy a kiss on the forehead and promises he'll be home safe and sound soon. It might be enough to fool Martin, but he can tell Zsasz and Edward aren't buying it, even if they graciously say nothing.

Oswald is thankful that they don't call him out on his bluff in front of Martin.

Edward tries to stop him from going all together, even threatening to tie Oswald to a chair to keep him there, but Oswald reminds him just how dangerous Jerome Valeska is. When Edward tries to go with him instead, he argues even more because _that_ is certainly even less of an option.

"No, Ed. Please, stay with Martin," he implores, "I don't know what his plan is and I would much rather have you all here and safe. I want to know where you are. Please, Edward."

Edward doesn't look convinced in the slightest, but he stops insisting, "Oswald, please..."

"I'll be back soon, alright?"

Edward frowns, comes close enough that Martin won't hear his fierce whispering, "You don't _know_ that."

"And you don't know that I won't."

"Oswald-"

" _Edward_ ," Oswald says fast, testy and not at all willing to argue this any further in front of Martin, "I appreciate it, really I do, but I need to be going."

Edward's shoulder slump for a moment, but he pulls himself up again. Oswald can almost see the moment he recedes into the Riddler, letting his more egocentric and emotionally stunted persona take over the reigns while Oswald walks out. He doesn't say anything, and Oswald is thankful.

He does sigh though before stepping through the front door. Oswald turns, places his hands fleetingly over Edward's shoulders and kisses his cheek, unsure if he meant the gesture as a "Don't worry" or a "Goodbye". Either way, he got his message across. Edward softens, hand tracing down the sleeve on Oswald's coat as he draws away again, like Edward wants to catch him and bring him back.

Oswald walks out the door.

 

* * *

 

The hangar is immaculate. When he'd first pulled up to the building with Scarecrow and Tetch, he'd thought Jerome had some need for a plane. Upon entering and seeing the massive blimp, the pilots, and watching boys in striped Arkham uniforms drag barrels of Jerome's gas into the back carrier, things start to fall into place.

"The kidnappings," he says, "the concert in the square, all to draw the biggest crowd so we can drop the laughing gas on them."

He huffs, turns, hoping maybe, _miracle of miracles_ , he can talk these two lunatics down from this massive ledge. "This is _madness_."

Crane cocks his head and even through the burlap bag Oswald can see the frustrated disappointment in his eyes. "I thought you'd appreciate the _beauty_ of it all," he drawls, neck cracking slightly as his head lolls from side to side in an eerie sway, "But Jerome was right, he only anticipated your betrayal."

Oswald's heart stops. His face falls, lungs punching out the last of his breath.

_Found out._

"That's right," the Scarecrow croons, "You went to Gordon, _Judas_."

He's hit suddenly in the back of the head, and Oswald doesn't even have time to really dwell on the panic that pangs in his chest before the floor is rushing up to meet him. There's a crash somewhere that seems distant, though it might just be him, colliding with the ground. Oswald is out cold before he can find out.

"Tie him up," Jervis states casually, gesturing down at his fallen form, "Put him on the blimp. Jerome wants him to have a bird's eye view."

"We can't just kill ‘em?" one of the men asks. Scarecrow turns to him, cocks his bagged head to the side, and revels in the nervous shrivel it elicits.

"He wants him alive," he replies tersely, eyes passing over Tetch for a brief flicker of a moment. "He's formed an... attachment, it would seem."

"He is right. It would indeed be much easier to kill him, less risk of our dear visionary's undoing," Tetch says with a raised eyebrow.

Scarecrow only shakes his head at Jervis in warning. "He'd kill you the moment he found out."

"No body, no crime," Jervis simpers, "We could hide his corpse away for a time?"

Another headshake. "He would know. Jerome's had a man on The Penguin since well before we escaped Arkham. I don't doubt our fearless leader is still keeping a watchful eye." Crane says irritably, "Just put him on board."

 

* * *

 

Oswald wakes up tied to the rails on the inside of the blimp, scared, and afraid of heights. He wonders why he's not dead, but it's a fleeting curiosity. Jerome could have killed him earlier but he'd kept Oswald alive for... whatever reasons he had. The others probably had orders not to hurt him. One blessed thanks to Jerome's infatuation.

His squabble with the pilot is frightening. Oswald feels helpless and trapped grappling for the wheel, the gun, and eventually just to right himself again. He peers out the window to watch the scared crowd in the square scatter like ants as the blimp draws closer. He can't do anything, he doesn't know how to _pilot_ a fucking _blimp_.

The startling chime of his cell phone is almost like an angel's sweet harp playing the tune of salvation in his ears.

Too bad Jim Gordon doesn't feel like playing his savior today, of all days. Damn him.

" _Steer_ a _blimp?!_ " Oswald gawks into the receiver, "Are you _out of your mind_ \--Jim, I don't even drive my own car!"

"If you don't, thousands will die, maybe worse."

"What's worse than _that_?"

And Oswald can almost _hear_ the cocky little eye twitch Jim always gets when he knows that he's won, "What about Martin? How will you two run an empire in a city full of lunatics? What if _he_ gets sprayed?"

Oswald sneers hatefully at his phone. Jim, for as often as he promotes his moral character, that whole _boyscout routine_ , can be a manipulative bastard when he feels so inclined. He's a darker character when it best suits his own needs. In another life he and Oswald might have gotten along. Maybe they'd even have been friends.

_"Fine."_

A huff of relief comes from the other end, and Oswald is about to tell Jim that he owes him for this when Jim says, "Thank you."

Short, sweet and to the point. He hangs up immediately after, and Oswald is left to struggle with himself.

Gotham is, and always will be, his home. Oswald wants to keep it safe, even if that means betraying Jerome this far into the game.

He's sorry, truly, truly is, and wishes he could support Jerome as much as he said he did, but it just wasn't realistic. Oswald wants to create a life and home for Martin to grow up in. He wants something dastardly beautiful for his boy to rise up and claim. Chaos for chaos' sake was how Jerome lived, not Oswald. They'd been oppositions from the very start, Oswald had just been too absorbed in his own fears to see it. From the first moment he heard those deep whispers offering him some sort of twisted friendship; when Jerome made him dance in that ridiculous outfit.... even the first time he kissed Jerome's cheek... that had all been a misunderstanding on his part. Oswald had misinterpreted Jerome's cruel jokes.

When Jerome teased him for a kiss, Oswald had given it.

If he'd just been smart, realized what Jerome was really about then and not in the middle of this entire affair, he never would have done it. Jerome never would have been interested.  

How would things have been different if he'd just kept his head down and to himself?

But then... Jerome had been so shocked to have been kissed... hugged for the first time... the way he'd looked at Oswald like he was the very world the first time he got them off….

He didn't entirely regret that. Who knows if anyone else would have ever shown Jerome any affection?

Oswald shook himself back to the present; back to insanity gas, blowing up politicians' heads and a fucking _giant blimp_ \--all to deter everybody from whatever _real_ goal Jerome had.

He was insane.

Sure, Oswald was a little crazy himself, but at least he knew where to draw the line. He killed for advancement and revenge, not necessarily just because he could, and if Oswald wanted someone dead they were dead. He didn't do the antics. He didn't do... _this_. He didn't distort. He built.

That man... the first test subject of Jerome's gas... his mangled face and hauntingly horrific laugh... _That_ was not the kind of Gotham that Oswald wanted for his boy.

Oswald struggles with the pilot for the lever, eventually managing to knock him out and get a hold of the wheel for himself. He steers the blimp with shaky hands and a belly in summersaults, a little high on adrenaline and a spark of paternal determination.

"Ah ha! Okay, okay..." he tries to console himself, "the river... where is the river?"

Jerome may be upset with him, but he'd never expected his plan to work either. Maybe he'll forgive Oswald for snitching on him to Jim. He's actually starting to feel a little good about his odds and Oswald's almost got a real handle on things when he chances a look out over the bustle and spies two figures on the rooftop. One of them is standing with a gun and the other is teetering on the ledge. The red hair is unmistakable really, even if Oswald hadn't been looking out for it.

His short-lived moment of victory comes crashing down around him when Jerome falls dangling from the flagpole bolted to the side of the building. He almost calls out, thinks about calling Jim even, because Oswald has prepared himself for a hundred different ways this day might go down... but he hadn't been expecting this. He wasn't prepared for _this_. Oswald is holding his breath, waiting expectantly as he watches Gordon peer over the side and offer down a hand.

Jerome doesn't take it.

There's another moment of conversation, and Jim almost topples over himself as he insistently tries to reach further.

Oswald watches as Jerome's hands slip, and he can almost hear the roaring laughter in his head as his body falls--stopping only when it hits the car below.

There's a moment where Oswald has to pause. He can't move his body, and Oswald blinks back the tears threatening to jump out from his eyes and forces himself to just _breathe._ It's difficult, like trying to suck air in with a blanket around his head. He feels overheated, the air doesn't satisfy his lungs with any inhale, but he manages it. He lets out one, short, pained cry before shaking his head and willing his arms to move again. He needs to land the blimp, needs to hand over Crane's toxin, needs to be the damned hero for the first time in forever. He needs to get home to Martin and wrap him up in his arms. Oswald can be sad about this later.

Because of what he's done today, Martin will be safe another day.

The landing is a little rougher than Oswald had hoped for, but considering he's never piloted a blimp in his life, it's a rather great feat.

To his surprise, Edward is there. The air of the blimp landing knocks his coat around his waist, and he has to hold his hat on his head to keep it from blowing away. When Oswald kicks open the door, he holds out a gloved hand to Oswald and helps him down. Oswald is more than relieved to be on solid ground once again. He's pretty certain he's developed a fear of heights. Oswald can't stop himself from pushing forward the final foot, slipping his arms around Ed's middle and practically barrelling into his chest.

Edward catches him with an 'oompf' and returns the embrace, a gentle hand holding the back of his head as the other rubs his back.

"I'm so sorry, Oswald," is all Edward says, but it's enough.

Ed understands the odd connection he and Jerome shared more than anyone else ever could. He _understands_ why this is hard for him. No one else would. By all accounts Oswald was blackmailed into helping Jerome; a crazy man who wanted to destroy the city, and Oswald should be delighted that he's dead. He should feel freed.

In a way, he does feel a little bit lighter.... He doesn't have to worry about how he would try to keep himself away from Jerome in the future, or how he would keep _Jerome_ away from Martin. He doesn't have to worry about hurting Edward with his lies or more miscommunication (at least on that front). He's free to move on from this, he's got the room to break free of the transference that riddles him with anxiety _every day_ . Jerome is dead and _this time_ he won't be coming back.

"It's-" Oswald tries, forcing himself to calm down. "It doesn't matter," he croaks, "Jerome was crazy. This is.... it's for the best."

"Oswald...."

"Leave it, Ed," he begs, stepping back to wipe away the mist in his eyes with his coat sleeve.

Edward doesn't say anything else. He simply stares at Oswald with a sorrowful expression and doesn't comment when Oswald angrily swipes at his eyes, trying to appear well held together when he's aware that Ed knows better. He'd been around far too long to _not_ know better, knows Oswald too well as a whole.

But he doesn't comment, let's Oswald pretend everything is fine, and Oswald is ever so thankful for it.

Edward simply extends his hand once more, smiling painfully towards Oswald before gesturing to the car behind them with a nod of his head, "Come on, let's go home. Martin will be worried by now."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm both relieved and _incredibly_ saddened to finally have this chapter out. (It's been in the works since the beginning and hinted at now and then) I'm very eager to see the reactions. Jerome was always going to die, that was the game plan, it was just a matter of how Oswald was going to feel about him when he finally did...
> 
> Which sounds terribly melancholy now that I'm saying it out loud... 
> 
> It killed me to write this, I swear. Though I imagine you're all a little more dead inside after reading it too... XD I've just had a few months to process it. Please, have at me! I want to feel the heat of the torches and pitchforks in the comments. XD  
> Nostalgic90s says that if there's any angry mobbing, I can be dipped in the Lazarus pool to be resurrected for the final chapter.  
> ... and maybe the possible sequel and/or midquel (Jerome/Oz porn because I'm a sinner and really didn't write anything super graphic in this story for some reason)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, while writing this chapter, my beta and I were sitting around thinking about what kinds of birds all the characters would be. (We were thinking Martin would be something like a bluebird or a sparrow) Zsasz would totally be a crow.
> 
> What kind of bird do you think you would be? We found out I am a 'Mute Swan" and my beta is a "Cockatiel".  
> We also found a damn quiz, if you can't decide. XD  
> https://www.buzzfeed.com/summeranne/what-kind-of-bird-are-you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is officially the final chapter here... oh gosh... it took me so long to get this thing out, mainly because I was really sad to see it end. I do think I'll be making one or two oneshots to add to this, but there's no time set for when they would be done (if ever) I'm at school now and sort of trying to climb out of my antisocial shell. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who was so supportive throughout this story. I appreciate it more than I could possibly say. It's so freeing to write and it's a huge uplifter to have people comment on my work and engage in conversation with me over it. I adore that. Thank you all so much.

Martin and Zsasz are in the sitting room when Oswald and Edward return. Oswald's tired, beaten, and feeling... disheartened after all the events of the day. He wants to lay down, sleep for five years and dream away the days of aftermath that will inevitably follow. He's exhausted overall, but no amount of weariness could ever tear him away from the look of relief his boy gives him when the door opens. Martin jumps up from the couch, leaving his little gun on the table where Zsasz has no doubt been showing him how to care for it.

Martin hugs Oswald around the waist, squeezing him so tightly Oswald is scared something is going to pop.

Oswald has no interest in dislodging him though, not when he's buried his face so fiercely in Oswald's chest and he's shaking with the effort not to cry. His arms tighten as Oswald rubs his cheek in Martin’s soft hair, bent over to accommodate for the height difference.

When they pull apart, Martin begins signing, pausing in the middle of his actions to wipe the tears out of his eyes and sniffle. Oswald smiles as he remembers the little he’s learned and picked up along the way.

**_“I was worried-”_ **

Oswald doesn’t recognize the last gesture, turning a confused eye up at Zsasz. “What did he say at the end?”

Zsasz crosses his arms, one hand caging his mouth as he tries (and fails) to hide his pleased grin. “Dad,” he says, and repeats the gesture, “This means Dad.”

Oswald’s lips part as he swivels back to Martin, eyes steadily growing just as teary as Martin’s. Martin is blubbering now, using his little fists to rub away the wet of his cheeks.

Oswald can’t stop himself from hugging him again, holding Martin close as he whispers gratefully, “My boy, my _son_.”

 

* * *

 

“Did you remember to feed Charlie?” Oswald asks as Martin is climbing up into bed, the fleece of his penguin pajamas rubbing up against the fluffy cotton of his bulky comforter and producing a sensory sound. Martin likes it when he manages to make a little static spark.

Oswald remembers letting Martin pick out his own pajamas at the store, how he’d made a beeline for the pair and insisted on both the penguins and a set that came with a graphic tee of a bright green parrot (That he said reminded him of Edward’s emerald suit). Oswald found it a little funny that Martin chose a duo of aviaries, _birds of a feather_ , if you will, a tribute to both himself and Edward, the pivotal pillars of Martin’s life.

Martin also chose a pair of silky, purple and black checkered ones that reminded him of Zsasz, but Oswald considers Zsasz as more of a supporting beam than a pivotal pillar.

That didn’t stop Martin from being a bubbly little babe when he showed them off. Zsasz has seemed almost more pleased than Martin himself.

Martin nods his head as Oswald pulls the cover up to his chin. He smiles, leans forward to kiss the top of Martin’s head and wishes him a goodnight.

Before he can leave though, Martin catches Oswald by the sleeve.

He turns, surprised, and Martin pulls his pad off of the bedside table to type. Oswald waits patiently, curious enough to try and peek just before Martin presses the talk button. _“Are you sad about him?”_

Oswald doesn’t understand what he means at first, blinking inquisitively.

_“Did you like him?”_

Oswald is still confused, but clarity comes finally crashing down when Martin starts drawing. It’s a pretty simplistic picture, but the bright red smile that stretches from ear to ear and the spiky hair to match really got the message across.

“You mean Jerome?” he asks, hesitantly.

Martin nods, and Oswald sighs.

"He… he was good to me," he admits, wary to say much else and ready to put this topic to rest. He doesn’t need it rehashed anymore than Martin needs to really know anything about it.

 _"Uncle Edward is good to you,"_ Martin says, then pauses. He shyly downturns his chin before adding, _"He loves you."_

Oswald chuckles to hide his initial blush, determined to brush Martin’s little declaration on Edward’s behalf off as mere childish dreaming. "And how would you know that?" he says in light teasing.

Martin thumbs at a few more keys before smiling, wide and completely confident in his responding, _"He told me."_

For one heart-stopping moment, Oswald doesn’t take in any air. He frowns. “Martin, stop it. You swore you wouldn’t lie to me. We don’t lie to each other.”

Martin waves his arms a little frantically, **_no no no_ ** _, “I’m not lying.”_

Oswald’s grimace deepens. “Edward wouldn’t-”

_“He loves you, Dad.”_

“Martin-”

_“He loves you, I know it.”_

Oswald goes to speak again, but the tablet is faster.

 _“_ _You_ _know it.”_

Oswald makes an ungraceful exit, shaking his head. It’s a bit of an effort to rush out of the room with the cane, but it clacks along beside him noisily enough to drown out Martin’s concerned automated voice.

 

* * *

 

Oswald doesn’t make a habit of visiting Edward’s room, and he’s really only been inside a handful of times. Once to make sure the room was ready and set for his arrival, again to help Edward unpack, and a final time one late night with two cups of cocoa and a nightcap.

The room is so entirely Edward. What exactly that means is mystery to anyone other than Oswald. The far wall is littered in pinned up news clippings, riddles, and other various pictures and articles written about the Riddler. It’s almost as if his alter ego has built himself a little shrine of sorts in the back corner and Edward is forced to live with it as a constant reminder.

Oswald knows that Edward fought with the egocentric side of himself for years and he still holds some grudges against the Riddler, even if he has come to embrace it. It’s a matter of the day, where his emotions are at, and whether or not he’s feeling particularly loving or charitable.

Oswald used to be steadfast in the knowledge that he preferred the Riddler, the dark side of Edward that he helped bring out into the light, but these days he’s not too sure. He loves to watch the Riddler work, loves to see that powerful man conduct himself like he’s fighting against a world that he’s a thousand times smarter than. He loves the intellectual, the planner, the pristine example of a polished criminal, always ready to prove his superiority in a battle of wits.

Oswald has no issues with admitting he was attracted to power.

He always had been.

...But Oswald also loves the gentle side of Edward. He adores the sweet good morning smiles and nervous hand holding. He loves seeing Edward interact with Martin, the way he wears his adopted fatherhood like a badge of honor. He loves him, devious criminal or sweetheart medical examiner with an adorable dorky combover.

The four poster bed has a spread of different shades of forest green. The comforter is upturned, glasses already set by the glass of water beside the bed. He can hear the water running from the ensuite bathroom and comes to the conclusion that Edward’s already in the process of getting himself ready for bed.

It’s late after all… a reasonable thing to be doing at this hour.…

Oswald finds himself fidgeting beside the bed, playing with his cane nervously and almost dropping it when he finally hears the water shut off and the door open.

Edward walks out, hand towel wrapped around his neck to catch the droplets from his damp hair and a hand playing with the freshly shaved skin on his chin.

“Oh, Oswald,” he says, a little flustered and squinting without his glasses, “Hello.”

“...Hello,” he replies lamely.

“Did you need something?”

Oswald is certain there are a million more elegant ways he could have gone about it, a hundred different ways he could have said it, but what comes out of his mouth is a sudden, rather alarmingly loud, “Martin told me that you’re in love with me.”

Edward pauses in the middle of pulling the towel from his neck. He blinks, peering over at Oswald with a look of a deer caught in the headlights.

“I…” he stumbles, and finally gets around to draping the towel over the footboard, “What- why did he-”

“He asked me about Jerome,” Oswald quietly replies to the implied question, and lets his gaze list off to the side. “That boy is… he’s far too perceptive for his own good, really.”

Edward chuckles, but it’s low and ultimately self-deprecating. “I would think that’s a good thing for a future kingpin, wouldn’t you?”

Oswald shrugs. “Not if he’s going to use those talents against _us_ ,” he smirks.

Edward laughs, and this time it’s genuine. The sugary smile Oswald’s come to love and lean on when he feels his most weary stretches from cheek to cheek. Oswald adores that smile. He finds himself limping a little closer to take Edward’s hand and sighing.

He might not even really need to ask. There’s enough proof in his actions _, in those damn smiles_ , for Oswald to realize he’s loved.

...But at the same time… Oswald wants to hear it-- _needs_ to hear it.

“Do you?” he asks, soft and timid, admittedly just a little nervous that maybe he won’t get the answer he’s looking for.

There’s always a chance he’s more invested again; that Edward doesn’t feel the same way and Oswald is about to make an utter fool of himself. He’s terrified, Oswald realizes, that history will repeat itself and this time he won’t be able to get back up again.

“Wait,” he says, just as Edward’s finally worked up to moving his own mouth. He starts to retract his hand, ready to pull away and retreat back to his own room and forget this night ever happened, “nevermind, don’t tell me. I-”

“I do. Oswald, I _do_ love you,” Edward says quickly, holding fast to Oswald and unwilling to let him slip away.

He draws Oswald’s hand up to kiss over his knuckles tenderly, letting his eyes fall shut as he does so. It’s almost like Ed’s kissed him on the mouth, Oswald’s breath is so completely knocked out of him.

“You.…”

“I do,” Edward repeats, this time smiling, drifting just a little closer until their chests bump together lightly. “I’m so sorry I didn’t just say so earlier.”

Oswald shakes his head, still breathless and fighting back a few tears that are being pushed to the frontlines by his overflowing emotions.

“It’s fine, I never asked-”

“No, that’s not an excuse. I know that it… it means a lot to you. We’ve been here before and… I really didn’t want to rush. I should have said something though.” He collects himself, Oswald’s other hand, and then the courage to continue on. “I wanted to give you more time after Jerome… and-”

Oswald pulls Edward a little closer by their joined hands and into a tender kiss. It’s a cliché, he knows, stopping your partner’s ramblings with a kiss, but the combination of realizing Edward’s actually in love with him, that he’s been thinking of Oswald and what would be best for him…. It’s entirely too overwhelming.

The kiss isn’t fierce. It’s not a heart-stopping, blood-pumping moment of passion and lust like the cliché normally goes.

But it _is_ incredibly heartfelt.

The press of lips is short, sweet, and filled with all the emotions and realizations that have been running circles in Oswald’s brain. He smiles as he pulls back, even laughing just a little at the absurdity of the moment. Edward’s grin is wider than Oswald’s and his laugh is twice as loud. He always was the more bubbly personality of the two and Oswald is honestly all the more ecstatic to see it.

Edward kisses him again, this time a little deeper, swallowing down Oswald’s pleased rumbles and bringing his hands out of Oswald’s grasp to wind around his torso, one at the top of his back, the other settling over its low curve.

It progresses steadily from there. The subtle undressing of clothes starts with Edward loosening Oswald’s tie to reach under his collar and kiss along his neck. Oswald is glad that Edward’s glasses are already off, so he doesn’t have to worry about knocking them askew. Edward’s hands slip up underneath Oswald’s coat to better feel the shape of his back, and the trail ends with the jacket on the floor despite Oswald’s protests. Edward’s bare foot coyly taps the top of Oswald’s Oxfords. Oswald chuckles, then happily complies.

They wind up on the bed eventually, making pit stops in the middle of the room, against the wall, and leaning by the bedpost before finally coming to a rest atop the mattress. Edward’s sheets are surprisingly soft, and Oswald’s sudden desire to feel the fabric against his skin is what brings him to pulling his shirt over his head.

Edward groans and leans forward to drop little kisses over his collarbone. The downward descent of his lips takes Oswald by surprise, startling a gasp from him before Edward’s even reached his belly. This slow, amorous way of paying one another attention is new to Oswald. He thinks he should feel impatient, already knowing what sorts of pleasures are yet to come, but he isn’t. He’s enjoying the soft presses of lips, the sluggish way Edward’s fingers caress his sides and up his thighs. Whenever he’d done things like this with Jerome it had always been always fast, rough, and right to the point. The way Edward is taking his time, losing himself to each action, almost like he’s worshiping Oswald with every movement… it has Oswald feeling light and feathery, breathy with desire and wishing he could stay in this moment forever.

Edward mouths at his hip as his fingers begin working at the front of Oswald’s trousers. Oswald brings a hand up to his mouth, the other clutching at the sheets beside his waist.

He swears he can feel Edward’s smirk against his belly as he says, low and teasing, “What tastes better than it smells?”

Oswald doesn’t have the time (or, frankly, the mind) to answer before Edward’s tongue is dragging over the newly exposed areas of skin, giving him both the answer to the riddle and a trail of goosebumps up his arms.

Oswald’s pants are down around his thighs, Edward’s weight across them holding down Oswald’s legs as he works. It’s a good thing too, he can hardly keep himself from bucking up without the help.

His face is _right there_ , so torturously close that Oswald can feel his warm breath in contrast to the slight cold of the room. He’s tempted to grab at Edward’s hair and force him closer, to feel that crafty mouth over his cock… but then he’d miss out on the little nips, the kisses, Edward rubbing his cheek against him, soft from the recent shave. Oswald thinks about these things and keeps his hands right where they are.

When Edward finally does wrap his lips around him, Oswald lets out a strangled cry, a little wet and very breathy. He has to push Edward away for fear of cumming too soon.

“If you keep doing that I might-”

Edward nods, hums, and returns to mouthing at the skin around his aching, wet cock. Oswald chokes and tosses his head back.

Edward groans, pulls his head up and away long enough to sigh disheartenedly, “My lube is in the dresser….”

Whining, Oswald reaches for Edward’s retreating form. “No, don’t go....”

He clicks his tongue, lifting up over Oswald to drop a reassuring kiss to his lips. Oswald is almost too distracted by the smooth, rippling motion of his upper body, rolling over him, to return it before he’s gone.  

The rumble of the wooden drawer sliding out of the dresser has Oswald turning his head, taking in the long, naked slope of his back. Edward, a connoisseur of the arts himself, looks elegant enough to be framed and mounted on a wall beside all the other great beauties of the world. He’s the undiscovered eighth wonder. Oswald finds his mouth not going dry so much as it’s wetting with a renewed appetite. As he stares, his deep hungering for intimacy slowly grows ravenous.

Edward turns, bottle in hand, and smiles in a way that might look wicked in any other context, but here and now, is purely lust driven. There’s no devious motives hiding behind this smile apart from the mischievous things Edward wants to do to him.

Maybe it should be unnerving, that smile, but Oswald has lived through the terrors of his wrath and is more than ready to surrender to the pleasant things it promises this time around. This time around and forever.

Edward works him open slowly when he returns to the bed, towering over Oswald with his height and planting little kisses over his face while Oswald squirms.

It’s a little sloppy at times and Oswald feels _very_ undignified like this, but he loves every humiliating second of it. The messy sounds and embarrassingly guttural moans only seem to spur Edward on even more. He works faster, breathes a little harder, and his head eventually falls into the juncture of Oswald’s neck to leave love bites on his skin.

“Amazing…” he says in a whisper, seemingly unintentional.

Edward lets out a breathy sigh, aligning the head of his straining erection with Oswald's stretched hole. He wants so very much to just push in, finally feel at home inside of the man he's shared so much history with--who's been waiting for this since the day Edward told him he believed in him, but he can't yet. Instead he leans forward, looming over Oswald and rubbing his hip with his free hand.

"You're sure you're alright with this?"

Oswald whimpers, nodding his head. "I may not have done this before, but I promise am _beyond_ ready to. I always wanted… it to be you-"

Ed can't help himself, he pushes forward on the last word, reveling in Oswald's surprised gasp as his hands fly up to Ed's arms, gripping tightly and tossing his head back. " _Ed_ , it's-"

"You're amazing Oswald," Edward interrupts, leaning forward to capture Oswald's lips in a heated kiss.

He spouts praise after praise over and over like a series of rambling mantras. Oswald starts to feel drunk on it; the attention and lavish affection. He’s unused to this much endearment, but he finds himself unwilling to give up even a second of it.

It's wet and a little uncoordinated, Edward focusing on keeping his thrusts light while Oswald gets used to the feeling, and Oswald just doing his best not to fall apart beneath Edward. Everything is too much and not enough at the same time. He needs to feel it all, finally connect with Edward the way he wanted to a lifetime ago, but it's all so new and breathtaking that he's not sure how much he can handle all at once.

Edward holds him close, like he'd afraid Oswald might disappear if he lets go. Maybe he has before. Ed's told him about the hallucinations. Maybe Oswald has disappeared on him too many times already.

So he wraps his arms around Edward's neck, kisses deeper, moans a little louder, gives Edward everything in the hopes that he'll realize that Oswald isn't going anywhere anymore. They've passed that point. More importantly they've gotten _through_ it. They found each other again.

Not too many people in Gotham can say that for themselves.

But Oswald _can_.

He's endured so much, betrayals and loss, but this makes it all worth it.

Edward shifts his mouth away from Oswald's lips to breathe into his neck, groaning when Oswald tugs on his hair, eager to throw it all out of shape just like how Edward's wrecked his own. He wants to see it afterward, to lay in bed with Edward and be able to see him disheveled and unkempt because Oswald brought him to that point.

He gasps, tips his head back and lets Ed drop tiny nips along the curve of his neck, moaning in an accompaniment of vibration, pushing in and out of Oswald with an unhurried rhythm and so much love that Oswald couldn't possibly describe it to its full extent. He can't articulate these things and do them justice. The way the moon spills in through the open windows and lights up the starry expression on Ed's face, the shine in his eyes, the adoration in his breathless laugh. It's all a religious experience and Oswald has never been one to worship others, but like this, he could see himself caving--maybe even being happy to. The way Edward lights up the room reminds Oswald of the sun, so rarely seen through Gotham’s ever present, gloomy overcast.

But it's been sunnier in Gotham lately.

Oswald blames Edward.

He whines, high and breathy as Edward drives in with a new angle, a new goal, holding up Oswald's bad leg against his hip with care and kissing away any brief noises of pain. It's so innately romantic that Oswald almost wants to laugh, tell Ed how corny he’s being and maybe play off his own embarrassment with a joke. He's never felt so loved or wanted in all his life, and he can't, for the life of him, explain why he might deserve this.

Maybe it's just the blushing muses of a virgin giving himself to someone for the first time, but Oswald can't imagine this would have been as magical with anyone else. There's too much history here. There's too much broken sorrow turned into new life. Nothing could beat that.

When Oswald cums, it's after a slow build. It pours out from him like cream from a pitcher; as unhurried as the rest of the sex had been. He holds onto Edward like his life depends on it, chanting his name under his breath and burying his face in Ed's shoulder. Ed follows after another moment, and lifts his hand to cup Oswald cheek and give him a final kiss, short and chaste but filled with no less emotion. It holds all the love Edward has to give, and Oswald returns it happily.

He moves to the side and is careful to set Oswald's leg down again so that it won't pain him. Oswald slides up next to him, content and tired, letting his eyes fall shut as he rests his head in the crook of Edward's arm. He fits there like a puzzle piece, slotted into place. He belongs there.

"Ed... I..." Oswald trails off, unsure how he could properly word everything that he feels in this moment.

"I love you Oswald." Ed smiles, tilting his head down to peek over at his drowsy lover, "I can't even begin to say how much."

Oswald almost wants to cry, so overjoyed and overflowing with vast emotion. "I've loved you for years, Edward. If it hasn't died out by this point, I think it's safe to say it never will."

Edward snorts, pulls Oswald just a little closer, and tells him to get some rest.

 

* * *

 

Edward lovingly suggests the idea of seeing a therapist to Oswald. While it takes some convincing (and maybe a few sinfully sexual bribes from Ed) he finally agrees to meet with one every other week just outside of Gotham. It would be far too risky to see one within the city line, after all. He's never exactly been what you’d call ‘inconspicuous’. People know who he is. She's a criminal therapist, and that helps. He can say things freely and know that she will remain professional throughout. Criminal therapists are something fairly new to Gotham, but places like Metropolis and New York have been providing the service for years. Their first session is mainly eaten up by introductions and his councilor informing him of all the things in place to insure his privacy remains unsullied. Apparently as a requirement to work in major criminal counseling, there's a test taken to ensure all workers are immune to various methods of torture, bribery, and even basic forms of mind control.

Patrice is a kind lady with a smile that would dazzle millions, choppy brown locks that are starting to go a little grey at the roots to accompany her pleasant crows feet, and a take-no-shit attitude when pushed beyond a very wide limit. She’s patient and understanding, but informs him right from the start that she doesn't tolerate threats to her life or any other shenanigans of the sort. She's there to be of help and if Oswald ever starts to feel that she's unneeded, there is no need to worry about her silence. He can leave anytime without worry. The only time anything leaves her office is if Oswald threatens either his immediate family (I.E. Martin) or his own life.

Oswald is impressed with the profession overall.

Patrice is also a little on the hefty side, but that only makes it easier for Oswald to also share trivial things like how he fears gaining weight under stress. How he misses his mother's goulash or that Zsasz is a sleepwalker and keeps making hoards of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the middle of the night. He and Martin can only eat so many by themselves before it gets tiresome.

He talks about Jerome and his extremely anomalous love life.

She doesn't judge. She asks questions and helps him achieve useful answers at his own pace. Sometimes she even gives him homework like taking some time in a day to remind himself that he's safe or plan an outing with Martin every once in a while. She tells him to assess his living situation and his lifestyle, to make changes where needed to help him feel safer if necessary.

Oswald gets a little extra security, vetted by himself, Edward, _and_ Zsasz. Between the three of them, they only accept a handful of men, but they know they've got the best of the best and it helps Oswald feel more at ease in the end. He commits to a routine walk around the grounds with Martin to keep himself from becoming a recluse. Sometimes Edward joins, sometimes Zsasz tags along and lets Martin ride on his shoulders.

He discusses the transference, how it’s affected him, and she finds him the help he needs. They talk through it, Oswald puts some of his trust in Edward and they share the burden together.

Eventually he opens up about it to Martin. There isn’t really much else to do after he sneaks out of bed to find Edward helping calm Oswald in the living room, tears coming down in waves he just can’t stop. Oswald becomes even more determined to get better after scaring his boy like that. He’d never seen Oswald cry like that before. Oswald sets out to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

He makes real progress, feels better, _healthier_ , and eventually it becomes easier to ignore the urge to look over his shoulder.

Eventually he forgets that he ever needed to altogether.

 

* * *

 

Martin is always chipper when he sees Oswald and Edward together. Oswald is thankful for his love and support, knowing his boy only wants to see him happy. He loves that kind of familial love and absolutely adores every second of it. Even when they’re a long time into a comfortable level of affection and Martin has grown a couple inches, a year and a half in age, and hair down to his shoulders that he absolutely refuses to cut off until he has enough to make a wig for Zsasz, it still warms his heart to see it.

They’re out for dinner at Zack’s when the usual squirmy, chipper behavior Oswald’s come to expect from Martin whenever he and Edward are particularly attached to one another. The restaurant is the same, filled with the usual suspects, the same upholstery, and the little jukebox Oswald had let Edward tinker with the last time they were there together. The place is the same, but apparently the owner’s changed. The menus have a different name now printed along the top with little inserted notes that say **_under new management_**.

“Excuse me,” he says, stopping a passing waitress, and curiously asks, “what happened to the old owner?”

She lifts an eyebrow. “You didn’t hear? It was that _freak_ with the messed up face.”

The table stills.

Edward’s eye catches Oswald out from the corner and his hand finds Oswald’s beneath the table. He squeezes once, offering support and understanding however he can.

“Apparently he was the owner’s like… nephew or something. Came in here and shot him. I’m so glad he’s dead,” she says, and Oswald tenses. “One less demented criminal hanging around Gotham.”

Oswald is boiling over with a sudden rage. He isn’t entirely certain of where it came from, the insult to his own person, the way she spoke about Jerome, the fact that she thought this was a great way to explain the situation in front of his young boy, whatever the reason, he’s quickly losing his temper.

Before Oswald can make a move to tell her off though, Edward squeezes his leg. Oswald turns to him and watches Edward’s grin grow wide, fake, and the tiniest hint of menacing. The look is aimed at their unsuspecting waitress, who startles when she finally catches sight of Edward’s eerie leer.

“Is…” she clears her throat and tries to smile again, a polite server’s smile, “is something the matter, sir-?”

“Edward Nygma,” he says, lightly waving the hand not planted on Oswald’s thigh. “Better known as the Riddler, and my associate here, Oswald Cobblepot, more commonly known as the Penguin.”

Watching the girl’s face drain from a rosy pink to a sickly pale is ever so satisfying. Her eyes widen, flickering between Ed and Oswald in rapid succession as the statement sinks in. Her mouth opens and shuts a few times before she outright bows her head in a panicked moment of fear. “I am _so_ sorry sir, I- I really didn’t mean to offend you- I just-”

“Burgers all around please, fries on the side, two chocolate milkshakes, extra whipped cream on mine, and a fork for him.” Edward smiles, tilting his head towards Oswald. “For when he inevitably gives up trying to eat with his hands.”

The girl blunders, but scribbles down the order obediently before scurrying away in a flustered heap of worry. She’s practically hiding behind the counter when Edward looks up again in triumph.

Oswald lets out his held-in snickering when she’s finally gone. “Oh, I sometimes forget how fun it is to terrify people.”

Edward nods to Martin. “Keep that in mind for your future escersions, let ‘em have it if you need to.” He grins, and adds, “We’ll have to include the more _fun_ bits of a criminal life in your lessons as well.”

Martin holds up two thumbs, smiling wide.

Oswald nudges Edward with an elbow. “We’re really doing burgers tonight?”

“You promised to show me you could do it.” He chuckles, “But I did get you the fork, just in case.”

Watching Oswald try to eat a burger with his hands is as messy as it is entertaining, and Edward and Martin quickly fall into shameless laughter beside him. Martin’s got a fair amount of mustard on his cheek as well, but Oswald can’t chide him for it. He’s got a mess of condiments all over his face. He’d wipe it off, obtain the manners his mother had taught him, but the bright smiles around the table and cheery laughter wins out over his pride.

He’ll drop the whole thing in his lap if it means they can all keep laughing like this forever.

 

* * *

 

Martin excuses himself once they’re home again well before his established bedtime. When Oswald asks, he feigns weariness, but Oswald can see that he’s far from actually tired. He doesn’t stop him though, simply side eyes his mischievous boy with a knowing look. When he turns back to Edward, fully intending to ask if he has any idea what Martin might be up to, Edward gives him a grin, takes his hand, and leads Oswald away from the hallway and into the sitting room.

“Edward?” he asks once they’re seated, his hands still in Edward’s.

In front of him, Edward takes a deep breath, and Oswald starts to worry.

“Is something the matter?”

“No,” Edward laughs out rather nervously, “No, nothing is the matter… this is just a little difficult to get out.”

Oswald frowns, but listens intently, nodding for Edward to continue. He fumbles for another minute, skirting around a variety of seemingly unconnected things, some of the things he and Oswald have gone through, how great Martin is, jumping to how pretty he finds Oswald’s eyes and back again in seconds… it’s a real mess. Oswald finds it a bit difficult to keep up with his ramblings.

“Ed….”

“Okay, wait,” he says quickly, before Oswald can unwittingly convince him to lose his courage, “Maybe this will be easier if I just get right into it….”

Before Oswald can question him or try and find out exactly what Ed is trying to tell him, his breath is simply stolen away. His eyes widen, chest pounds, and his stomach starts to do little flips that leave him nauseous.

Edward slips off the couch and onto one knee, still holding Oswald’s hands in his own.

 _“Edward?”_ he asks, eyes wet and cheeks steadily flushing pink.

“I never actually imagined myself doing this…” he says, shutting his own eyes and laughing somewhat self-depreciatingly, “but I’ve heard you never really do until you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with… you, uh, _you know?_ ”

Oswald bites his lips as he listens to the rest of Edward’s rambling.

“I know… this is… really still kind of a weird time, but you’re doing so well Oswald. I really think you’ve… you’re getting a handle on things. I can see it. You’ve been uh…” he trails off, looks incredibly sheepish, “You’re doing _really_ well, Oswald, and I’m very proud of you.”

Oswald sniffs, grins, and gratefully squeezes his hand.

“I really think you’ve changed. You’re a better man. You’re, uh… you’re more confident and… you’re stunning. Well, I mean-”

Edward groans to himself and Oswald merely laughs.

He shakes his head, "Damn it, I’m trying to ask you to marry me, Oswald."

Oswald smiles, biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing with joy. He’s never heard Edward make such a fool out of himself with words. Each sentence seems half baked, like he can’t actually get his thoughts together at the moment and it’s the highest compliment Oswald has ever been paid in his life. _Edward Nygma_ is losing his wits over him, over _this_ , and it’s absolutely marvelous.

Edward scoffs at himself, “God, I’m really screwing this up, aren’t I?”

Oswald shakes his head, cups Edward’s cheek, “I’m enjoying myself.”

He snorts, “Of course you are.”

“Not stupid, sweet. I love you too, you know.” Oswald simpers, and leans forward to kiss Edward on the lips, soft, happy, more in love than he ever thought would be possible for someone like himself. “And yes,” he adds with a chuckle, “I would love the chance to legally bind you to me.”

Edward knocks him gently in the arm, but pulls him down for another kiss anyway, grinning like the madman he is.

Their engagement period isn’t long, but they justify it with the fact that they’ve known each other for years. They’re past whether or not this is the right decision. They’ve been hurtling towards one another for ages, this is just the formality at this point.

Oswald is nervously dressing himself in a wing off the corner of the church when Jim Gordon finds him. Oswald is only slightly miffed, maybe more about Jim not bothering to RSVP and then turning up unannounced just before he’s set to walk than anything else.

“Jim.” he greets politely, taking a break from trying to get his tie straight to turn and look at his vacillating friend, “How nice to see you on this pleasant day. You didn’t send back your RSVP, I didn’t think you were going to come. I’m very glad you made it.”

Jim nods, but looks hesitant before speaking. "Oswald.” he says, but that’s as far as he gets before he starts looking sheepish, glaring somewhere off to the side, “I'm uh, really sorry to bring you this today, but… Well, I figured..."

"Spit it out Jim,” Oswald insists, “or save it for another time. I have to finish getting ready and I really don’t have time to waste here."

Jim sighs, scratches at his neck, and finally gets the words out. It’s like pulling teeth, but he manages it, "Jerome... he said some things to me on that roof. Before he died… I thought you should know about it."

Oswald blinks, staring at Jim incredulously. "I... I don't know if I'm interested in hearing it, Jim. I’m not even sure why you feel me an important recipient of that information. I- _Today_ of all days, you-"

"I wouldn't have told you at all, but- but I sort of realized its importance _today_.” he says, already irritable, “He talked about you while we were on the roof… He's actually… kinda how I knew you were on that blimp."

Oswald frowns, but nods for Jim to continue, "...Alright."

"He told me to tell you that he... well, he _said_ -”

“ _Jim_ , just spit it out, for the love of Pete!”

“He _liked_ you," Jim spits out violently, like the very idea offends him in some way.

Oswald's jaw drops, but before he can really think to berate him, he laughs "You... you can't be serious, James. He wouldn't have- _Jerome Valeska wasn't the type of man to say something like that_." he scoffs, tossing his arms up between them.

The entire notion is ridiculous. That Jim thought to tease him like this was even more so. Oswald doesn’t get the joke here.

Jim snorts bitterly, "I was just as surprised as you. I think I almost fell off that roof myself, actually. It caught me completely off guard, but he looked dead serious, Oswald."

" _Jim_ ,” he huffs, about to tell Jim off for butting into his personal business like this before he realizes how this must look; how his association with Jerome might appear to the cop who was in charge of the investigation, "he and I-"

"Whatever your relationship was, I don't care." he sighed, lifting two fingers to the bridge of his nose, and the other hand to silence Oswald, "He just said he was sorry. He said to wish you luck… you know, with Ed." He gestures towards Oswald and Oswald can’t even find the words to respond with.

Instead he stills, mouth still open, eyes wide and disbelieving before he goes into an obscene amount of flailing, babbling, then angry guffaws.

Because in no rational world would Jerome Valeska wish Oswald Cobblepot luck with Edward Nygma. He’s half convinced this is just some big joke Jim has cruelly decided to play on him on his wedding day. Of course, if that’s the case, then-

"Why would you bring this to me today, Jim?" he asks harshly, eyes narrowing, " _Of all days_."

"He asked me to. Dying man’s last request and everything… I couldn’t really say no. But I've never been good with timing," Jim says, "especially when it comes to weddings."

Oswald glares. "A lesson you would do well to learn quickly, Jim. It's done you no favors today."

"I just thought..." he sighs, and Oswald watches Jim start to slowly crumple in front of him, "I let Lee walk down the aisle with Mario before she could understand my feelings. I didn't say anything sooner. As much as I hated Jerome... I guess I kind of sympathize."

Oswald gapes, his surprise and dislike slowly morphing into an outraged pain. "You have _no_ right to push your feelings on me, James Gordon! And blaming a _dead man_ is even lower of you. Why in the world would you have thought this was a good idea? Unless you came here with the _intention_ of causing me pain!"

"He _wished you luck_ , Oswald." James says quickly, forcefully, "He was trying to tell you he was letting you go--that you should let _him_ go. I thought you should know that. Today. It was important."

"James." Oswald says, taking a step closer, "You _don't know_ what my relationship was to him, and my circumstances are _vastly_ different from what yours were. We weren't in love. We didn't have a white picket fence life set out for us like you and Mrs. Thompkins did." He scowls. "We weren't even together." He blinks, looking down with something close to shame. "It meant nothing."

Jim frowns, but his eyes soften when he takes stock of Oswald's face. "Oswald... If it meant nothing, why are you crying?"

Oswald gasps, completely unaware that he'd shed even a single tear, and lifts a hand to his cheek to find it soaked.

It's hard to breathe from that point. "I..."

"Oswald, it's alright." Jim's hand gently falls onto his shoulder. " _It's alright_."

"We weren't in love, Jim," he says again, almost like he's reassuring himself of that fact rather than Jim, but his eyes are stained this time with a sadness, lips wet and shaky, "It wasn't like that, not really, but it still... it still meant _something_ . It hurts so much to admit that, but it did. It was _something_."

Jim nods in understanding, but graciously says nothing, lets Oswald finish.

"There was never any possible future between us. There couldn't have been. But Ed-"

"Oswald, you're right." Jim says quickly, "You're nothing like Lee. It's different for you. You and Ed... as weird as this entire thing is, you both really deserve each other. I honestly hope you and your weird little family are happy together."

Oswald smiles with a short laugh and wipes his tears. "Thank you, James. That… really means a great deal to me. Especially coming from you. I seem to keep finding myself in a position where I owe you my life… and here I owe you again, for this…”

Oswald sighs, “I think you were right. I did need to know."

James hits him in the arm somewhat fondly. "Believe it or not, sometimes I get things right. Now go get married. Nygma's gotta be getting impatient by now."

"You're welcome to stay, Jim," Oswald blurts out before Jim can turn away completely, "I _did_ send you an invitation… I know weddings are… difficult for you, but it would be lovely to have you, James."

Jim grins halfheartedly, "I'm _really_ not good with weddings, Oswald."

"You could just stay for the reception? There will be cake. Martin chose the frosting."

Jim snorts and rubs at the back of his neck. Oswald can see the very moment he relents, shoulders slumping before he huffs. "Alright Oswald, I'll stay."

“I hope you enjoy mint frosting then,” Oswald smiles. “Colored purple, of course.”

Jim chortles.

 

* * *

 

As Oswald fiddles with the flower clipped to his suit jacket, decorated with pearled pins to match the one Edward will have on him when they meet at the altar, he does think of Jerome one last time. It's a fleeting thought, as he reaffirms the fact that he and Jerome never could have had this. This family he was about to create with Edward. There could never have been this level of intimacy between them. Not him and Jerome, not Jerome and Martin, none of it. If Jerome had lived, if Oswald had wound up with him, it would have ended with one or both of them dead. Martin might have become an orphan again, and Oswald could simply never do that to him.

As the large double doors open, and Oswald starts to make his way down the aisle through the bright and sunny lights pouring in from the stained glass, he knows this is where he's meant to be; Edward waiting at the front with his hands clasped in front of him and a huge smile on his face, Martin close beside him with an equally wide grin and a little purple pillow in his hands.

When he makes it to them, Oswald doesn't think of Jerome. He thinks of the family he has--of just how lucky he is to have it. Zsasz, his maid of honor (a title he'd _insisted_ upon being able to keep) takes his bouquet with a sweet expression and a nod, holding it to his stomach like a trophy. He thinks of his mother and his father, how proud of him they would be. He thinks of how happy he is, as Martin lifts the tiny pillow at the minister's command and Edward slips the ring onto Oswald's finger, and how happy he _will_ be in the future.

And Oswald is, happy.


End file.
